Chapter 47

Yoko

The shrill buzz of my alarm slices through the quiet, dragging me out of sleep like an unwelcome guest. I groan, slapping at the snooze button with the grace of a half-awake zombie. My eyes peel open reluctantly, greeted by the faint glow of morning light slipping through my curtains.

It's only Tuesday?

I flop back onto my pillow, staring at the ceiling like it's personally responsible for the slow crawl of the week. With a sigh, I roll over, greeted by Ham's sleepy face at the foot of my bed. His tail gives a lazy wag, thumping softly against the mattress.

"Morning, fluffball," I mumble, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. He stretches dramatically, letting out a groan like waking up is the hardest thing in the world. Relatable.

After a few minutes of lazy belly rubs, I finally drag myself out of bed, the cool floor waking me up faster than the alarm ever could. I pull on my outfit for the day—a simple, oversized white Calvin Klein sweatshirt paired with grey sweatpants and clean white sneakers. Comfortable, effortless, and perfect for pretending I've got my life together.

I glance in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair to smooth it out, then shrug. Good enough.

As I tie my shoelaces, my mind drifts to Faye, to our late-night call, to the warmth in her voice when she whispered I love you. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, lingering like a quiet secret tucked into the folds of an ordinary morning.

Downstairs, the faint smell of coffee and something slightly burnt lingers in the air. Dad's in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flipping what looks like an attempt at scrambled eggs.

"Morning," I mumble, dropping my bag by the door.

"Morning," he replies without looking up. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

He slides a plate across the counter, a proud grin on his face despite the eggs looking more like an abstract art piece. I dig in anyway—it's surprisingly decent, and I'm too hungry to care.

Between bites, Dad sips his coffee and casually asks, "You want me to drop you off?"

I shake my head, swallowing my food. "Nah, I think I'll walk today."

"Suit yourself," he says, shrugging.

I finish my breakfast quickly, grab my bag, and lean down to ruffle Ham's fur one last time. "Bye, Ham. Try not to miss me too much."

Ham responds with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto the floor like life without me is unbearable. Classic.

Stepping outside, I breathe in the cool morning air. The walk to school feels like the right choice today—simple, quiet, and just enough space to clear my head.

Maybe Tuesdays aren't so bad after all.

The walk to school is filled with the usual morning sounds—birds chirping, distant car engines, and the rhythmic crunch of gravel under my sneakers. The cool breeze helps clear my head, but it does nothing to settle the growing knot of anxiety brewing in my chest.

Friday's coming.

By the time I reach school, the hallways are already buzzing with half-awake students, some dragging their feet like zombies while others somehow have the energy of a triple-shot espresso. I spot Ink immediately, leaning casually against my locker like she owns the place, arms crossed, that signature smug grin plastered on her face.

"Morning," Ink says, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

"Morning," I reply, slinging my bag off my shoulder and fiddling with my locker combination.

Ink squints at me, head tilted slightly. "Well? What's wrong? You look like you didn't sleep."

I roll my eyes, shoving books into my locker. "I slept fine."

"Oh?" Ink's grin widens. "Why? Did Ms Tall-and-Cold not let you sleep last night?"

I nearly choke on my own breath. "What?! No! What the hell?" I sputter, laughing despite the heat rising to my cheeks. "We didn't even go out yesterday!"

Ink waggles her eyebrows, clearly enjoying this. "Oh, I thought she'd reward you or something... you know, for surviving mid-year results day."

I groan, slamming my locker shut with unnecessary force. "No. Definitely not."

Ink chuckles, leaning back. "So... your dad's back?"

"Yeah," I mumble, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

Ink raises an eyebrow. "Is he coming for the Friday mid-year review thing?"

I pause mid-step, the weight of that question hitting me harder than expected. "...Yeah."

Ink narrows her eyes, studying me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve. "What's wrong? You look stressed. Like, extra stressed."

I exhale sharply, leaning against the lockers beside Ink. "I'm super not prepared for my dad and Faye to meet. Like, mentally, emotionally—not ready."

Ink snorts. "Well, yeah, that'd be awkward for anyone."

I shake my head. "No, you don't get it. My dad doesn't even know Faye and I are together."

Ink's eyes widen, and she lets out a low whistle. "Ooooooh... that's a whole situation."

"Yeah," I groan, rubbing my temples. "A whole situation."

Ink grins, clearly finding this way more entertaining than she should. "Well, this Friday's going to be fun."

I glare at her. "Not helping."

She just laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we head to class. "Don't worry, I'll be here to witness the chaos. You know—for moral support."

"Gee, thanks," I mutter, but I can't help the small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

Friday's coming fast.

Too fast.

Ink and I make our way to English Literature, her steps lazy and unbothered while mine feel like they're on fast-forward. I try to play it cool, but my heart's got its own agenda—thumping louder with every step down the hall, like it's counting down to something big.

It's just a regular lesson, I tell myself. Nothing special.

Except it is special because Faye's in that room.

The moment we reach the door, my fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. I step in, pretending to be nonchalant, but the second my eyes find her, the world blurs at the edges.

Faye's standing at the front, leaning casually against her desk with an ease that borders on sinful. She's wearing a black blazer, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the sharp lines of her forearms. Beneath it, a dark, fitted tee that hugs her frame perfectly, tucked neatly into high-waisted jeans cinched by a simple black belt. The soft gleam of a silver chain rests around her neck, subtle but sharp against the dark fabric.

Her hair falls effortlessly over her shoulders, slightly tousled like she didn't try too hard—but somehow, she's flawless. Her sharp eyeliner draws attention to her eyes, making them look even more intense, like they could unravel me with a single glance.

I swear the air feels different when she's in the room—heavier, charged, like gravity itself tilts toward her.

Breathe, Yoko. Breathe.

I force my legs to move, slipping into my seat beside Ink, who doesn't miss the way my gaze keeps flicking toward the front.

"You're so obvious," Ink whispers, smirking.

I elbow her lightly, not taking my eyes off Faye. "Shut up."

Faye glances up from the papers on her desk, her eyes sweeping over the room—and then, for a brief second, they land on me. Just a flicker, quick and fleeting, but enough to make my heart stutter.

She doesn't smile, not in the obvious way, but there's a softness in her gaze, like an unspoken secret tucked behind her professional mask.

I sink a little deeper into my seat, my face warm, pretending to focus on my notebook.

How am I supposed to survive this lesson?

I slump into my seat, my heart still doing gymnastics after that fleeting glance from Faye. Ink slides into the chair beside me, shooting me a knowing look.

"Did you do your homework yesterday?" she whispers, pulling out her notebook.

I blink at her, my mind still somewhere between Faye's blazer and the curve of her smirk. "What homework?"

Ink's jaw drops like I just admitted I don't know what gravity is. "Oh my God, you forgot?!"

Panic flickers. "Forgot what exactly?"

Ink leans in, whispering like it's top-secret classified information. "The unseen poetry assignment! You know—the one Ms Peraya told us to attempt. The one we didn't do in the mid-year exam?"

My brain short-circuits. I feel the colour drain from my face. "Oh my God, I didn't... I totally forgot..."

Ink shakes her head in mock disappointment. "Wow. Just wow."

I start scrambling through my bag like the answers might magically appear in the bottom somewhere between my half-eaten granola bar and a crumpled receipt. Papers fly, pens roll off the desk, and I'm pretty sure I'm breathing like I just ran a marathon.

Then it happens.

"Yoko."

I freeze. My head snaps up like a deer caught in headlights.

"Yes?" I squeak, voice about three octaves higher than usual.

Faye's standing there, eyebrow arched with surgical precision, arms crossed—the pose of doom.

"Why are you scrambling around like your bag's on fire?" she asks, her voice smooth and deceptively sweet.

I force a laugh, the kind that's 90% panic and 10% regret. "Nothing! Just... um... being... organised?"

Her lips twitch slightly, the ghost of a smirk flickering before she turns back to the whiteboard. "Right. Organised."

I'm doomed.

The lesson begins, and Faye's in full form—walking around, engaging the class, and somehow having laser vision only when she passes by my desk. I try to sneak in a few lines of the forgotten poetry assignment, scribbling furiously under my textbook like a criminal hiding contraband.

But Faye has spidey senses, apparently.

Every time I think I'm safe, her shadow looms, and I have to pretend I'm deeply fascinated by whatever she's explaining.

When she finally gives us a class assignment to work on individually, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is it—my chance.

I divide my attention like a multitasking genius: one eye on the class assignment, one hand scribbling answers, the other frantically working on the forgotten homework. It's chaos. Pure, undiluted chaos.

But then—of course—I get caught.

"Yoko."

My soul leaves my body. I look up slowly, like time itself is slowing down for dramatic effect.

Faye's standing right in front of my desk, her arms crossed again, the faintest smile playing on her lips.

"What exactly are you working on?" she asks, her voice laced with that dangerous amusement.

I panic. "Yes!"

She blinks. "Yes?"

Ink snorts beside me, trying—and failing—to suppress her laughter.

"I mean... um... I'm... multitasking?" I offer weakly, as if that explains everything.

Faye leans in slightly, lowering her voice just enough so only I can hear. "Is that the unseen poetry assignment I asked for yesterday?"

Busted. Completely and utterly busted. I nod sheepishly, my face probably the colour of a ripe tomato.

She straightens up, smirking. "Impressive time management skills, Yoko."

I want the ground to swallow me whole. Ink wheezes beside me, face buried in her arms to muffle the sound.

And me? I just sit there, contemplating my life choices while pretending this is totally fine.

Spoiler: It's not.

Before I can even muster an excuse—or, you know, pull a miracle out of thin air—Faye levels me with a look so sharp I swear it could slice through steel.

"See me after class today," she says, her voice silky-smooth but carrying the weight of doom. "You're serving detention."

My mouth drops open in disbelief. "What?!"

Without missing a beat, she reaches over and snatches my half-done, panic-scribbled poetry assignment right off my desk like it's evidence in a crime scene. Which, to be fair, it kind of is.

Ink is shaking with silent laughter beside me, her head buried in her arms to avoid completely combusting.

I grumble under my breath, slumping dramatically in my seat. "This is oppression," I mumble, just loud enough for Ink to hear.

But Faye's ears are apparently tuned to my frequency because she shoots me a glare—a teasing one, but with just enough authority to make my soul shrivel. It's the kind of look that says, I dare you to keep talking.

I cave instantly. I mean, who wouldn't? She's got that teacher glare and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. It's an unfair combination.

"Good job, Yoko," I whisper to myself sarcastically. "Forgot her homework. Definitely going to get scolded later. Genius move."

But despite the dramatic doom spiral happening in my brain, I find myself glancing at her again. Faye's pacing at the front of the class, effortlessly switching between talking about metaphors and, somehow, stealing all my oxygen.

Ugh, I think, half cursing her existence. Why do you look this good while ruining my life?

She's got that blazer rolled up just enough to show her forearms—like, was that necessary? Is this an English Lit class or a fashion runway? The way her chain catches the light when she turns her head? Illegal. And don't even get me started on her smirk every time she catches me staring.

This is emotional warfare.

Eventually, class ends. I'm packing up my things, still grumbling internally, when I notice something strange.

Wait a minute...

She's not collecting anyone else's homework. Just... mine.

I narrow my eyes at her as she casually sits at her desk, flipping through my sad, half-done assignment like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever read.

Oh, I see how it is.

Ink leans over, still snickering. "Is she not collecting anyone else's work?"

"Nope," I mutter. "Just mine. Clearly, I'm the chosen one."

Ink snorts. "Well, lucky you. Private detention with Ms Tall-and-Cold."

I glare at her. "Not helping."

With an exaggerated sigh, I grab my bag, heading to my next class, already mentally preparing for detention.

Great. Just great.

But deep down? I'm not even that mad.

Detention.

I mean, it sounds serious—like I'm about to be locked in a dimly lit room with dramatic echoes and the distant sound of chains rattling. But no, it's just me walking down the hallway, dragging my feet like I'm heading to my doom when, in reality, I'm going to spend one-on-one time with my girlfriend.

Real punishment, huh? If this is punishment, I should really start committing more crimes.

I reach Faye's classroom door, take a deep breath for dramatic effect, and push it open.

There she is.

Sitting at her desk, completely focused, pen in hand, her sharp eyes scanning through a stack of papers with that concentrated look that should honestly be illegal. Seriously, it's like she's auditioning for the role of "The Hot Teacher Who Ruins Lives and Grades."

Her dark hair falls naturally around her face, tucked behind one ear just enough to show off her earrings. She's got her blazer sleeves rolled up again—because apparently, she's on a mission to make forearms the new heartthrob feature.

God, I'm doomed.

Without even looking up, she says, "Oh, look who's here—the student who got caught doing homework during class."

I groan dramatically, dropping my bag with a loud thud like the weight of my regret is crushing me. "Come on, babe. You're doing this on purpose. You didn't even collect anyone else's homework except mine!"

She finally looks up, raising an eyebrow with that signature smirk—the one that could probably cause global warming if she's not careful. "Who told you to do my work during class when it's supposed to be homework?"

I squint at her, crossing my arms. "Sorry, ma'am, I was busy talking to my girlfriend last night." I flash her my most charming grin, leaning back like I've just dropped the mic.

Faye rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of her head. "Don't blame it on your girlfriend. You went home early while she was in school working through the afternoon. Pretty sure you had all the time in the world to do the work."

I blink, my brain scrambling to find a comeback. The Wi-Fi in my head is not connecting.

"Well—" I start, flailing internally for an argument.

Nothing. Just static.

I throw my hands in the air dramatically. "I can't even win with you!"

Faye leans back in her chair, pen tapping against her lips, that smug look practically radiating from her face. "Nope. You really can't."

I plop down into the nearest seat, groaning like my soul has left my body.

But deep down? I'm not even mad. Because, if this is what detention feels like, maybe I should forget my homework more often.

I slouch dramatically in the chair, arms crossed, giving Faye my best suffering student look. "So what, do I just sit here for an hour and think about my life choices?"

Faye doesn't even glance up from the papers she's marking. "Nope. Since you can't do your homework at home, I'm going to make you do it here. Right in front of me."

I groan like I've just been sentenced to life in prison. "I can't do it here. You're distracting."

That finally gets her attention. She looks up, arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow, lips curling into that smug little smirk I simultaneously hate and love. "I'm distracting? I'm literally just sitting here."

"Exactly," I mutter under my breath. "Sitting there. Looking like that."

Her smirk grows wider. "Oh, poor you. The unbearable agony of having to do your homework while your very attractive teacher is in the same room."

I glare at her, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Do I get a reward if I finish my homework?"

She blinks, then snorts. "A reward? For doing something you were supposed to do yesterday? That's not how it works."

I sulk, dramatically slumping even lower in my chair, like my soul is leaving my body. "This is emotional abuse."

Faye chuckles softly, shaking her head as she returns to her marking.

Eventually, I stop being a drama queen (for like, five minutes) and start my homework, grumbling under my breath the whole time. Faye moves from her desk and sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off her. She doesn't say much, just occasionally glancing over to check on my progress, her presence both comforting and distracting in equal measure.

When I finally finish, I shove the paper toward her with a dramatic sigh. "Done. Here. Take it before I set it on fire."

She takes it, skimming through the pages with that serious teacher mode face that makes my heart do stupid flips. After a moment, she looks up. "This is actually really good."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Yeah, okay, I got it. Don't butter me up."

She laughs softly, handing the paper back. I shove it into my bag with unnecessary aggression, packing my things quickly.

I stand, slinging my bag over my shoulder, ready to bolt.

But then—

"What?" Faye says, tilting her head. "Why are you leaving so quickly? Are you upset?"

I pause mid-step, refusing to turn around. "No."

Lie.

I mean, technically, I'm not upset-upset. Just... mildly annoyed because, you know, detention with your girlfriend should come with at least one kiss, right? Otherwise, what's the point?

Faye's quiet for a beat, then her voice softens, dripping with amusement. "The bell hasn't even rung yet."

I groan dramatically, dragging my feet as I shuffle back toward the table. "Fine."

But just as I reach her, she grabs my hand and tugs—with surprising strength for someone who looks so composed—and I lose my balance, practically falling into her lap.

"What the—" I start, but her arms wrap around my waist, holding me there like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Faye grins up at me, that annoyingly smug, heart-melting grin. "There. Now you can't escape."

My face heats up instantly, but I can't help the laugh that slips out.

"Detention sucks," I mutter, trying to sound grumpy, but it's hard when my heart is basically doing backflips.

"Yeah," Faye murmurs, her voice soft against my ear, warm and smooth like velvet. "Terrible punishment."

I shift slightly in her lap, feeling the heat rise from my chest to my cheeks. Her arms are still loosely wrapped around me, her fingers resting casually on my waist like they belong there—like I belong there.

I tilt my head just enough to catch her gaze, my heart doing somersaults despite my best efforts to play it cool. "How terrible?" I tease, arching an eyebrow. "I'm sure you enjoy it, since you get to see me."

She smirks, her eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and something softer. "It's the same for you, isn't it?"

I scoff, turning away dramatically, pretending to be offended even though my heart's practically screaming. "No. It sucks."

Faye leans in closer, her breath warm against the shell of my ear. "Even when it's with me?"

I cross my arms, pouting like a child denied candy. "All the more worse, because I get no kisses. Not even one."

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against me, low and warm. "Poor baby," she coos, her tone dripping with amusement, like she's thoroughly entertained by my sulking.

I open my mouth to fire back a witty retort, but before a single word escapes, she tilts my chin gently with her fingers and kisses me.

Not a quick, dismissive peck. Not a fleeting brush of lips.

No.

This kiss is deep, slow, and unapologetically possessive—the kind that steals the air from my lungs and replaces it with nothing but her. Her hand slides up to cradle the side of my face, her thumb brushing softly against my cheek as her lips move with a confidence that makes my heart stutter.

My fingers clutch the fabric of her blazer without thinking, grounding myself as the world tilts slightly off its axis. There's nothing else—not the ticking clock, not the faint hum of life outside the classroom. Just the warmth of her mouth, the faint taste of coffee lingering on her lips, and the quiet hum of her breath mingling with mine.

When she finally pulls back, just an inch—just enough for me to miss the connection—I'm left breathless, my heart racing like it's trying to catch up with time itself.

She smiles, her forehead resting lightly against mine. "Better?" she whispers, her voice a soft ache in my chest.

I blink, my brain still rebooting, then manage to mumble, "Yeah... okay... that's acceptable."

She laughs quietly, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip.

Just as I'm beginning to recover from the emotional whiplash of Faye's kiss, the school bell rings, slicing through the quiet like an obnoxious reminder that reality still exists.

I clear my throat, quickly shifting off her lap, trying to act like my heart isn't racing at the speed of light. "Well... uh... time to go," I mumble, avoiding her gaze as I straighten my uniform and grab my bag, suddenly fascinated by the floor.

Faye leans back in her chair, that smug grin still lingering on her lips. "Oh? You wanna run away from me now?"

I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the blush threatening to betray me. "No! I mean—well—I better get home soon. You know... in case I forget to do any of my English Lit homework again." I flash her a dramatic, innocent smile, like I've learned some profound life lesson.

Faye chuckles, shaking her head. "There's no homework today, genius."

I blink. "Oh. Right."

Smooth, Yoko. Real smooth.

Before I can respond, she stands, steps closer, and presses another soft kiss against my lips—quick, but enough to make my heart do a backflip.

"Let's go home together," she murmurs. "I'll drop you."

I nod, my brain screaming YES even though all I manage is a casual, "Okay."

We leave the classroom, walking side by side down the now-empty hallway. It's weird how even the most ordinary spaces feel different when it's just the two of us—like the world shrinks to fit only what matters.

Once we reach her car, Faye unlocks it with a casual flick of her wrist. I slide into the passenger seat, trying not to look like I'm freaking out over something as simple as being in her car.

She starts the engine, glancing at me with a sideways smile. "How come you didn't drive today?"

I shrug, fiddling with the hem of my sweatshirt. "Didn't feel like driving."

She hums in response, pulling out of the parking lot. "Hungry?" she asks after a beat. "Let's get something to eat before I drop you home."

"Sure," I reply, then pause. "Oh, wait—my dad's home. Let me call and see if he's made lunch."

I pull out my phone, dialing his number. He picks up after a couple of rings.

"Hey, Dad. Is there lunch at home?" I ask, glancing out the window.

"Nope," he replies. "Why? You eating out?"

"Yeah," I say, casually sneaking a glance at Faye. She's focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, looking effortlessly cool.

Then, as if he's been waiting to ambush me, my dad adds with a teasing lilt, "Oh? Eating with your girlfriend?"

My face heats up instantly. I glance at Faye again—she's smirking now, definitely hearing every word.

I clear my throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "Yeah... okay... yeah."

Dad chuckles. "Alright, have fun. Bye."

I hang up, slumping in my seat with a groan.

Faye doesn't say anything at first—just throws me a quick, smug glance. And I already know I'll never hear the end of this.

We pull up to a small, cosy café tucked between a row of shophouses, the kind with warm lighting spilling through the windows and a faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. Faye parks the car, turns off the engine, and for a brief second, we just sit there in comfortable silence, the soft hum of the city outside filling the gaps.

When we finally step out of the car, I'm adjusting the strap of my bag when Faye casually rounds the front of the car and—without a word—reaches for my hand.

Just like that.

Fingers intertwined like it's the most natural thing in the world, and my heart reacts accordingly—doing somersaults while trying to keep a straight face.

I glance up at her, but she's looking straight ahead, like this isn't a big deal. But the faintest smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and I know she knows exactly what she's doing.

We walk into the café hand-in-hand, my heart racing like it's in a marathon. The place is warm, filled with soft chatter, the clinking of cutlery, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. We find a small table near the window, sliding into our seats after placing our orders.

Faye leans back slightly, her fingers tapping lazily on the table. "So... your dad. He's back in town?"

I nod, fiddling with the edge of the napkin. "Yeah, he is. The mid-year review's this Friday, so... he kinda has to be."

Faye hums, nodding. "Makes sense."

I stare at her for a moment, my heart tugging in two different directions.

Should I tell her?

I mean, it's not like it's a huge deal—okay, it is, but still. The thought of my dad sitting across from Faye during the review, both of them unknowingly existing in the same space with zero context, feels like a ticking time bomb.

I glance at Faye, studying the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers absentmindedly trace circles on the cup in front of her.

She notices.

She tilts her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

I blink, caught red-handed. "What?" I repeat, because clearly, my brain has nothing useful to offer right now.

She smirks softly, leaning in just a fraction. "You're staring. Thinking way too hard about something. What is it?"

I swallow, my mind racing.

Do I tell her? Or do I just... eat my sandwich and pretend everything's fine?

The sandwich option is looking pretty good right about now.

Faye is still watching me, waiting, her eyebrow slightly raised in that I know you're hiding something way that makes my soul want to shrivel.

I stare at Faye, her eyes curious but patient, waiting for me to spill whatever's clearly causing the storm in my brain. I take a deep breath, fiddling with the edge of my napkin like it holds all the courage I need.

"Okay," I start, my voice a little too loud, earning a glance from a nearby table. I clear my throat, lowering it. "So... my dad knows I'm in a relationship."

Faye raises an eyebrow, her smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Oh? That's progress."

"Yeah, but," I continue quickly, "he doesn't know it's with you."

Her amused expression doesn't fade. If anything, it deepens. "Ah. The plot thickens."

I roll my eyes. "I just... didn't want to tell him it's you because, you know, in case he gets all overreactive or whatever. Like—'Oh my God, you're dating your teacher?!'—and then he spirals into some dramatic dad mode."

Faye chuckles softly, nodding. "Makes sense."

I run a hand through my hair, groaning. "But that also means this Friday is a walking disaster waiting to happen. He's coming for the mid-year review. And you'll be sitting across from him. And he doesn't know. And I do know. And I'll just be there, internally combusting."

Faye chuckles, taking a sip of her coffee like she's thoroughly entertained by my suffering. "Sounds fun."

I glare at her. "Not for me."

She grins, but before she can respond, I sigh dramatically and drop the real bomb.

"Oh, and also," I add, taking a casual sip of my drink, "my dad asked me to invite you over for dinner at home."

Faye blinks. "What."

Faye freezes mid-sip, then slowly lowers her cup, her eyes wide with disbelief before she bursts into laughter. It's the kind of laugh that makes people turn and look, but I'm too busy dying inside to care.

"I'm sure that's not the... best way for him to find out," she says between laughs.

I nod, trying to suppress my own laughter at how ridiculous this situation is. "Yeah. Just casually. 'You can always invite her over for dinner, Yoko!'" I say, imitating my dad's voice with unnecessary dramatics. "God, It's like walking into a lion's den wearing a T-shirt that says 'I'm dating your daughter.'"

Faye wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, still chuckling, then reaches across the table to gently squeeze my hand. Her fingers are warm, grounding me instantly.

"Hey," she says softly, her laughter fading into something gentler. "It'll be okay. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? He throws me out? Disowns you? Dramatically flips the dining table?"

I glare at her, but I'm fighting a smile. "Not helping."

She grins, her thumb brushing circles on the back of my hand. "Okay, seriously—it'll be fine. We'll survive Friday, and if dinner happens, we'll survive that too. Your dad loves you, right?"

I nod, sighing. "Yeah. Unfortunately."

She laughs again, squeezing my hand a little tighter. "Then we've got nothing to worry about. I mean, sure, it'll be mildly awkward, but at least you'll have me there to charm him."

I glance at her, the warmth in her gaze softening the panic bubbling in my chest. "...You say that because you don't have to sit through Friday as my father slowly interrogates your existence."

She smirks. "You underestimate my ability to charm people."

I groan again, but I can't help the tiny smile that sneaks onto my lips. "You're ridiculous."

She grins. "And yet, here you are, dating me."

I roll my eyes so hard I almost pull a muscle. "Oh God."

Touché.

The ride home is filled with quiet comfort, the soft hum of the engine blending with the faint sound of the radio playing in the background. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow through the windows, painting streaks of gold across Faye's face as she drives, one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, the other occasionally tapping against her thigh in rhythm with the music.

I steal glances at her, my heart doing that stupid thing where it skips a beat for no good reason—except there is a reason, and she's sitting right next to me, looking effortlessly perfect even when she's just focused on the road.

When we finally pull up outside my house, Faye shifts the car into park and leans back slightly, turning her head to look at me with that soft, teasing smile that always manages to unravel me.

"See you in school, baby," she says, her voice low and warm, like a secret only I get to hear.

I hesitate, my hand lingering on the seatbelt buckle before I glance at her with a grin. "Kiss?"

She chuckles, shaking her head slightly. "Your dad might be watching."

I roll my eyes, unbuckling my seatbelt with a dramatic sigh. "Nah. He's probably in his room drowning in emails or whatever corporate thing he does. Who has all the time in the world to stare out of windows like a spy movie villain?"

Faye raises an eyebrow, her smirk growing. "Okay, that's true."

And just like that, she leans in, her hand finding the side of my neck, fingers warm against my skin as her lips meet mine. It's soft at first—a gentle brush, a whisper of warmth that makes my heart stutter.

But then I shift slightly, my hand finding its way to the curve of her jaw, and suddenly the air feels different—thicker, charged with something heavier than just a goodbye. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, her fingers tightening slightly as if she's anchoring herself.

I can't help it—I want more.

I shift closer, my fingers threading through her hair, tugging gently as her other hand slides to my waist, pulling me in until there's no space left between us. The world outside the car fades—the passing cars, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant sounds of life. None of it matters.

All I can feel is her.

The soft press of her lips, the warmth of her breath mingling with mine, the way her thumb traces lazy, burning circles against my hip. My heart is racing, but it's not the kind of rush that makes you want to run. It's the kind that makes you want to stay—right there, in that stolen moment, where nothing else exists.

When we finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, Faye leans her forehead against mine, her lips still ghosting over mine like she's not ready to let go either.

I laugh softly, my heart still trying to catch up. "Well," I whisper, my voice slightly hoarse, "that's... definitely better than detention."

She chuckles, her thumb brushing over my cheek. "Yeah... I'd say it's an upgrade."

And for a moment, I consider not getting out of the car.

But reality taps me on the shoulder, reminding me that my dad is probably somewhere in that house, and I reluctantly pull back, grabbing my bag with a dramatic sigh.

"See you in school, baby," I mimic her earlier words, grinning as I step out of the car, my heart still tangled in the space we just left behind.

She drives off with one last lingering glance, and I stand there for a second longer, trying to convince my legs that yes, we do have to move eventually.

But my heart?

It's still sitting in that car.

I step into the house, still floating somewhere between cloud nine and should've-made-out-longer-in-the-car. The door clicks shut behind me, and I'm already thinking about flopping face-first onto my bed when—

"AHEM."

I SHRIEK.

Like, not a cute little squeak. No. A full-on, high-pitched, horror-movie-final-girl SHRIEK that echoes off the walls, probably scaring a bird off a tree somewhere outside.

Because there, standing by the window like he's been cast as the lead detective in CSI: Daughter Surveillance Unit, is my dad.

Arms crossed. Leaning slightly like he's posing for a "World's Most Smug Dad" poster. Eyebrows raised like he's been waiting for this exact moment his entire life.

"HI DAD!" I blurt out, my voice cracking like a teenager going through their third puberty.

"Oh, hello," he replies smoothly, his face plastered with the kind of smirk that screams, "I know something you don't want me to know."

My heart's racing—not because I'm scared, but because WHY IS HE STANDING THERE LIKE A WINDOW GARGOYLE?!

I fumble with my shoes, kicking them off like maybe if I'm barefoot, this'll feel less humiliating. "Why are you standing here?" I squawk, gesturing wildly like that's going to help. "How long have you been standing here?!"

He shrugs, casually, like it's totally normal to spend your afternoon lurking by windows like some sort of suburban cryptid. "Long enough to see my daughter kissing her girlfriend in the car."

I'm dead. I'm deceased. This is my ghost typing.

But he's not done. Oh, no. He adds with a grin so smug it could power an entire city, "It's okay."

IT'S NOT OKAY.

I slap my hands over my face, groaning dramatically. "OH MY GOD..." I pace in frantic little circles, my brain doing somersaults. "I should've just—OMG—" I flop briefly against the wall like it'll absorb me into another dimension. "WHY?!"

But my dad? Oh, he's THRIVING. He's never been more alive.

"So," he says, leaning against the windowsill like he's settling in for a good show, "who's that woman? She looks... older than you."

I snap my head around, glaring at him with the full force of teenage mortification. "Yeah. She is."

He hums thoughtfully, like he's solving a crime. "Should I be worried?"

"Nope," I reply, my voice hitting that weird pitch where it sounds suspicious even when it's not. "Nope. All good. Totally normal. Nothing to see here."

"Well," he continues, clearly on a roll now, "I guess I'll find out for myself when you actually invite her over for dinner."

OH, THE IRONY.

I take a deep breath, trying to recalibrate. "Yeah... well... about that," I mumble, avoiding eye contact like it's the plague. "We'll... talk about it after Friday."

His eyes narrow slightly. "Why Friday?"

ABORT MISSION. ABORT MISSION.

But before I can redirect with something brilliant like "Look! A distraction!" he GASPS. Like, full-on, dramatic, Oscar-worthy gasp.

"WAIT— Is it someone from school?!"

"Kinda..." I squeak, testing the waters like someone dipping their toe into shark-infested waters.

"DON'T TELL ME IT'S A TEACHER!" he blurts out, eyes widening like he's cracked the Da Vinci Code.

I blink. Consider my options. Fleeing the country seems dramatic, but not off the table.

Instead, I shrug. "What if she is?"

He squints at me, that smug grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. "As long as it's not your teacher or something," he says with a chuckle, like that's the most ridiculous possibility. "That'd be weird."

OH, IF ONLY YOU KNEW, DAD.

Internally, I'm cackling. Like, full-on villain laughter echoing through the halls of my brain because—SURPRISE—Faye isn't just a teacher. She's MY teacher. MY ENGLISH LITERATURE TEACHER, to be specific. The same one he'll be meeting THIS FRIDAY.

But on the outside? Poker face. Unreadable. Cool as a cucumber in Antarctica.

"Yeah," I say, nodding vigorously. "Nothing of such sort."

He teases me a little more, something about "older women with authority issues" (pot, meet kettle), but I'm too busy mentally spiraling to respond properly.

Eventually, I escape—bolting up the stairs like a fugitive—slamming my bedroom door shut behind me.

I collapse onto my bed, face buried in my pillow.

Faye's totally MY teacher. My English Lit teacher, actually. The one you're meeting Friday. SURPRISE, DAD!

I groan into my pillow, kicking my legs like an overcooked noodle.

This is fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine.

...I'M DOOMED.