Sunlight crept through the curtains, gently waking me. I had no idea where I was, nor what I was doing in this place.
Last night, I danced with my friends in a girl club where I almost got drunk. The memories blurred — flashes of laughter, music, and lights — and then nothing. I didn't even remember how I ended up here.
Instinctively, I touched my body, checking if I was still wearing everything. Each touch grounded me, and everything seemed in the right place. I felt relieved — until I turned to my left.
There, lying beside me, was a woman with long brown hair, strands glinting softly under the sunlight. The blanket barely covered her, and her calm breathing filled the silence. I wasn't shocked to see her — because somehow, deep down, I already knew what had happened between us last night.
I'm a lesbian, but all the women I've been with before never looked like this. She was different.
As I watched her, a strange heaviness stirred inside me — something I didn't want to feel. This wasn't love. It was desire.
I decided to leave — I still had a class this afternoon.
Yeah, I'm a senior high school teacher. And honestly, there are no strict rules to follow when you're one — besides, why should I care? I did what I wanted, and that's all that mattered.
As I quietly made my way out of the woman's room, my eyes explored across the white walls adorned with framed photographs. Everything was neat and spotless, reflecting a kind of grace that made me feel out of place. There were pictures of her — smiling, carefree — and beside them, portraits of her parents.
Her home was enormous, almost intimidating in its silence.
Just as I reached the door, I heard faint footsteps upstairs — soft but quick, like someone stirring from sleep. My pulse jumped. She was awake.
Without another thought, I hurried out, the cold air brushing against my skin as I ran to my car, heart pounding harder with every step.
When I got home, I decided to take a shower to get ready for school. But before that, I caught a faint scent on my right hand — soft, floral, and oddly familiar.
It must be her scent.
I brought my hand closer, unable to resist. The fragrance lingered, delicate yet intoxicating. I didn't know why, but it felt addictive — like it carried a piece of her I wasn't ready to let go of.
A sudden knock on the door startled me, pulling me back to reality. My heart pounded hard against my chest as I hurried to the door.
It was the mailman — Lorienz.
"Good morning, Ms. Young. A letter for you," he said with a gentle smile.
Lorienz was an old man who lived by the river. I often shared what I could with him — food, clothes, sometimes money — just to help him get by.
"Hey, thanks, Lorienz. Here, take this," I replied, handing him a hundred-dollar bill.
His eyes shimmered, and his lips trembled as he smiled.
"Oh… thank you, Ms. Fernandez," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
My heart fluttered as I watched his smile — so genuine, so full of gratitude.
I quickly went back inside and opened the letter he had given me.
Dear Ms. Fernandez,
We would like to inform you that a new student teacher from the University of the Philippines (UP) will be joining you soon. She will be under your supervision and training. We trust that, under your guidance, she will learn to become an excellent teacher — just like you.
I let out a deep sigh as I finished reading. I remembered my last student teacher — she was kind, eager, but a little clumsy when it came to handling a class.
Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already 10:30 in the morning. Time was running fast. I straightened myself up and began getting ready for work, fixing everything I needed for the day.
When I arrived at school, the halls were filled with the cheerful giggles of students. But the moment I stepped inside, the laughter faded, and everyone hurried back to their classrooms. They all knew me — the most strict teacher they'd ever had.
I walked down the corridor with my usual serious face. Students only saw me smile when I was in a good mood — which didn't happen often. I guess that's just part of my mood swings.
"Good morning, Ms. Fernandez!" one of my students greeted cheerfully — Meizie.
That girl was actually sweet. Her long, black hair swayed gracefully as she spoke, framing her face in a way that made her look effortlessly charming. For a moment, I couldn't help but feel slightly flattered by her warmth.
Our conversation was interrupted by a voice calling from behind me.
"Ms. Fernandez."
A soft, feminine tone — one that carried a strange sense of familiarity.
I froze. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly turned around.