Teacher things

She leans over the desk to grade your paper, reading glasses perched low, red pen hovering. The neckline of her blouse falls open just enough — a slow, deliberate reveal she pretends not to notice.

Your eyes trace the curve where fabric gives way to skin, the soft press of flesh against a practical bra that somehow makes everything worse. She looks up, catches you, says nothing.

The classroom is empty. Late afternoon light cuts across her collar. She sets the pen down, straightens slowly, and asks if you have any questions about your grade.