Chapter 3

Yoko

The first rays of sunlight pierced through the blinds, spilling across the floor in soft, golden streaks. It was a Wednesday morning, and the world outside was already buzzing to life. The air felt fresh, the promise of a new day hanging in the stillness of my room as I slowly woke up, stretching out my limbs.

I glanced at the clock—7:45 a.m.

Shit. I overslept.

I groaned, rubbing my eyes, and quickly pushed myself out of bed. The usual routine of getting ready in the morning rushed at me, and I barely had time to think about anything other than the usual rush. Ham, as usual, was already at the door, his tail wagging as I shuffled past him.

"Morning, Ham," I mumbled, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He yipped happily, his eyes sparkling with excitement, as though he had been waiting for me to get up for hours. I gave him a quick pat and stood back up.

The clock was ticking, so I moved fast. I grabbed my bag, rushed downstairs to make a quick breakfast—Ham at my heels, of course, already anticipating his own portion of the morning routine. I poured him some food, which he devoured in seconds, and then ran to grab my coat and bag.

"I'll see you later, buddy. Be good!" I squeezed in some pats on his head while he was still eating and quickly jumped into my car and drove off towards school.

My first lesson of the day was Mathematics. Normally, Ms. Catherine would give me a stern look if I were late, but today was different. She seemed distracted, almost absent-minded. When I walked in, she didn't glare at me as usual. Instead, she simply gestured for me to take my seat.

I quickly pulled out my notes and textbook, trying to catch up, but Ink, sitting beside me, nudged me gently, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"You alright? You're late today." Her voice had a trace of concern. As a friend, she knew that I was usually punctual.

"I don't know... I just overslept." I shrugged, trying to focus as I jotted down whatever was on the whiteboard.

"Wow, look at you. Yoko Apasra, late to school for the first time!" Ink smirked, teasing me.

"Stop it. I need to concentrate." I waved her off, my attention back on the notes, determined not to miss anything important.

Math flew by in a blur, and before I knew it, we were nearing lunch break. Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Curiosity tugged at me—who could be texting me at this hour? It wasn't my dad, as he knew I'd be in school.

I decided to push the thought aside. I didn't want to get distracted during Chemistry. When the bell finally rang, signaling lunch, I headed out to the corridor to wait for my friends while checking my phone.

"Yoko!" Big called out as she walked over with Marissa. "You alright? We thought you weren't coming to school today. We didn't see you this morning."

"Yeah, I overslept. Got here a little late." I shrugged.

"Yeah, guys, Yoko was late today. First time ever!" Ink chimed in, still teasing me.

"Stop it," I said, nudging her playfully. My eyes were still on the phone, my finger hovering over the message notification.

A small smile spread across my face as I saw who it was—Becky.

Becky

Hey Yoko! Just thought maybe we could head to a nearby cafe this Sunday. I found one online yesterday, and it looked interesting.

I quickly googled the cafe, and it was as nice as she'd described—minimalist and cozy. My fingers moved on autopilot, typing a response.

Yoko

Sure, this place looks nice. Let's meet at 10am this Sunday.

I was so focused on the phone that I didn't even notice the smile creeping onto my face. A rare sight, especially at school. It felt... a little embarrassing. 

When I looked up, Ink was watching me with a sly grin.

"Who's that?" she asked, her tone dripping with curiosity.

I quickly shoved my phone into my pocket, trying to act casual, but avoiding her knowing gaze. "Just someone."

"Who's the lucky person who's got you smiling like that?" Ink leaned in closer, sniffing the air dramatically like Ham when he senses food. "I smell... Infatuation!"

"Stop being ridiculous." I shot her a glare, feeling my face heat up. "It's just someone I met at the park yesterday. Ham kind of... injured her. So..."

"So you're meeting her to feel less guilty, huh?" Ink clapped slowly, drawing out the moment, clearly enjoying herself. "You're really something, Yoko."

I rolled my eyes, embarrassed. "You talk too much, Ink. It's just coffee. I'm just making a new friend. That's all."

"We'll see about that," she said, dragging out the last word with an exaggerated wink. "Just a friend, huh?"

I huffed, trying to shake off her teasing. "Yeah, just a friend. And no, I'm not infatuated!"

Ink just raised an eyebrow at me, clearly unconvinced.

After lunch break, Ink and I made our way to the next class, chatting about our homework as we walked to English Lit.

But as we entered the room, my words trailed off. My gaze shifted instinctively toward Ms. Peraya. She was wearing something different today, and I couldn't help but notice.

Her long leather skirt hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating her shape in a way that was impossible to ignore. 

The simple black t-shirt she wore underneath was understated, but it only made the black leather jacket she had on stand out even more. Her hair, today, was curled in soft waves that cascaded over her shoulders, and the addition of her spectacles gave her a scholarly yet undeniably attractive edge.

God, she looks incredible.

"Yoko!" Ink's voice snapped me out of my daze. I blinked rapidly and realised I had been standing there, lost in thought. Ink was already seated at our usual spot, raising an eyebrow at me.

I hurried over to join her, forcing my attention away from Ms. Peraya. "What's up? Why are you staring?" Ink's tone was teasing, her brows furrowed. "Gawking at Ms. Peraya, huh?"

"I wasn't gawking," I quickly defended, trying to sound casual. "I was just, uh, deep in thought." A lie, and I knew it. I had definitely been gawking.

The lesson began promptly, and Ms. Peraya launched into a new poem for us to dissect. But today, I couldn't seem to take my eyes off her. My gaze wandered involuntarily, tracing every curve of her figure, from the way the leather skirt fit her frame to the graceful flow of her hair. She was stunning, and I couldn't deny it.

Her voice, usually so cold and detached, now carried an unexpected warmth as she read the poem aloud, weaving emotion into each line. It was a contrast I wasn't prepared for, and it made her even more captivating.

Just then, our eyes met. She shot me a quick, knowing glance, a look that lingered for only a second, but it was enough.

I saw that.

A barely perceptible smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth—almost imperceptible, unless, like me, you were watching intently. For a moment, my heart skipped a beat.

"Ms. Apasra," she called out, her voice smooth, yet tinged with something playful, as if she was deliberately calling me out for being caught in the act.

I quickly snapped my attention away, the heat rising in my cheeks. "Yes?" I managed to say, trying my best to mask the embarrassment.

"Could you please read the poem for us?" she asked, her tone light but laced with a challenge.

"Oh, uhm. Sure." I grabbed the paper, my hands slightly trembling, and looked down at the text. The class fell into a hushed silence, all eyes on me. I cleared my throat, feeling the weight of their anticipation, before I began to read, trying my best to focus, despite the lingering feeling of her gaze on me.

"Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.

The soul that knows not

Knows no release from little things;

Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,

Nor mountain heights where bitter

Joy can hear

The sound of wings

How can life grant us boon of living.

Compensate

For dull gray ugliness and pregnant hate

Unless we dare

The soul's dominion? Each time we take a choice, we pay

With courage to behold the resistless day,

And count it fair."

Once I finished reading, I looked up at Ms. Peraya, and to my surprise, she gave me a satisfied smile.

The first of many.

It was the first time I'd ever seen her smile in class—well, the second if I counted yesterday. But this one felt different. There was something about the warmth in her smile that made my heart skip a beat. It was as though in that fleeting moment, all my worries and burdens had melted away, replaced by an unexpected sense of ease. Her smile was a quiet reassurance, one that seemed to say everything would be alright.

"Thank you, Ms. Apasra." She addressed the class again, her voice steady. "Now, I'd like you to tell me—what can you understand from the poem, based on how Ms. Apasra just narrated it?"

A few hands shot up, and a student was called on. "This poet is complaining about life."

Ms. Peraya nodded, her gaze briefly scanning the class. "Yes. Anyone else?"

Another student piped up. "Is the poet a guy? It sounded like he needed courage to do something."

"Perhaps," she replied, turning the question back. "But what I want to focus on today is how your reading and choice of words can convey so many different meanings, especially when you're reading from a book."

She turned to the whiteboard, beginning to write. As she did, her words resonated with me—the way one reads, the choice of words... they change everything.

I watched her write "Amelia Earhart" on the board, feeling a little lost as to where this lesson was headed.

"Now, I'm going to re-read the poem," she continued. "And after, we'll discuss our thoughts again."

She began reading the same poem, word for word. But something about her delivery made it feel entirely different.

Her voice—rich, measured, and full of emotion—breathed new life into the words, unlocking meaning I hadn't considered before. It wasn't just the poem anymore; it was her voice that captivated me. It felt like I was transported to another dimension of understanding, where the words on the page came alive, and it became something deeper, something more visceral.

Before I knew it, the poem came to an end, and I was left hanging in the lingering echoes of her voice.

We all looked up at Ms. Peraya as she gently placed the book down on the desk, her movements deliberate, her presence commanding.

"Now, you asked if this poet was a man," she began, her voice calm and measured. "After the re-read, tell me—do you think this is a male or female poet?"

The same student who had asked the question earlier responded, "It's a woman."

Ms. Peraya's lips curled into a small, approving smile. "Correct. And what gave you that answer this time?"

The student hesitated, then ventured, "Perhaps it was how the poet talked about the word Courage."

"Ah, you're half-right," she replied, her gaze sweeping across the room. "There are a few key things we can identify here."

Her voice was steady, but there was something captivating in the way she explained each point—like each word she spoke was a key to unlocking the deeper layers of the poem. She was utterly engrossed in her explanation, and it felt as though she were speaking directly to me.

"First, the emotional depth and introspection," she continued. 

"The poem's focus is on internal struggles, on courage and the soul's dominion. These themes suggest a level of sensitivity and reflection—a quality often attributed to women. Like it or not, women tend to be more attuned to such introspection."

I found myself hanging on to every word she said, her knowledge so precise, so clear. It felt almost hypnotic, the way she broke down the poem so effortlessly, as though the world had narrowed to just her and me.

"Secondly," she went on.

"There's the gentle strength woven through the poem. Titled Courage, the poem explores this word beyond external conflict—it's about inner strength, the quiet resolve to face life's challenges. And often, such strength is attributed to women."

Her eyes met mine briefly, as if sharing an unspoken thought. 

I could've sworn time slowed for that moment, the entire classroom fading away until it was just the two of us. Her gaze held me, drawing me deeper into her words, into the meaning she was so carefully unraveling.

"Lastly, diction," she said, turning back to the board. 

"Words like Soul, Release, and Dominion suggest a profound exploration of inner life. And women poets, more often than not, use language that is personal, emotional. Ultimately, women are... sensitive creatures."

The way she said that last line—so knowing, so confident—sent a chill through me. 

It wasn't just her words; it was the ease with which she spoke them, like she had the world figured out. I felt myself drawn even closer to her, to the way she carried herself, to how effortlessly she made such complex ideas seem simple. Her knowledge was not only fascinating—it was magnetic.

I couldn't help but keep staring at her, completely caught up in the moment, as if the rest of the class had melted away. 

For that brief second, it felt like the entire room, the entire world, had disappeared, and I was the only one listening to her. Like this lesson, these words were meant only for me.

Ms. Peraya continued, her voice as steady and captivating as ever. 

She provided more context about Amelia Earhart, explaining how the famous American aviation pioneer was the first woman to fly a nonstop transatlantic solo flight in 1932. Her work, Courage, reflected her own perspective on life and the inner strength required to face challenges and make bold decisions.

The discussion was insightful, but when it ended, we were given an assignment that left me pondering. We were asked to write an essay on how readers could relate to Earhart's poem—Courage—without referencing the poet herself. 

The task seemed simple enough, but the more I thought about it, the more I found myself caught between what the poem said and how it made me feel.

I struggled with the essay at first, but soon the ideas began to flow. I scribbled down my thoughts, attempting to connect the dots between the poet's words and the emotions they evoked. As the class wore on, I realized I had lost track of time. The bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, but I wasn't ready to leave just yet.

Ink, noticing my lingering, waved at me from the door. "Let's go. You've been writing forever."

I barely glanced up. "I'll catch up with you later. I've still got some work to finish."

Ink frowned but shrugged. She left without another word, leaving me alone in the classroom.

I told myself I was staying to finish the essay, to give it the time it deserved. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just the assignment keeping me there.

I wanted to stay, to bask in the lingering presence of Ms. Peraya. There was something magnetic about her—her intellect, her grace, the way she carried herself that drew me in deeper each time she spoke.

As I continued to write, the classroom felt quieter, emptier, as if the only thing left in the world was the soft hum of my pen and the memory of her voice.

"You're still here," her soft, calm voice whispered, sending a shiver down my spine. I hadn't realized how close she had gotten until my pen came to a sudden halt. Her breath, warm and gentle, grazed my ear, and my heart skipped a beat at the proximity.

I turned to face her. She was barely inches away, her presence overwhelming. I couldn't help but think back to that moment during detention, where just a little more and we would've kissed. The thought sent a rush of heat to my face, and I instinctively leaned back, my cheeks burning with an unfamiliar heat.

"Yes, I just wanted to finish the assignment," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.

Her gaze was unwavering, intense. She didn't look at my paper, her eyes fixed on mine, as though she was trying to pull me into a different world—her world. The silence between us felt charged, electric.

"Do you need help?" Her voice broke the tension, low and inviting, as she offered her assistance with a subtle smile.

Another first.

I could feel my breath catch at the sight of her smile.

Damn it.

Has anyone ever told her how enchanting she looked? How could she stop time with just a simple curve of her lips? Whoever got to see that smile was truly blessed... They might as well have saved the world in a past life.

"I... I'm just thinking about how to conclude my essay," I stammered, nodding slightly, trying to steady myself as I accepted her offer.

She sat down in Ink's seat, her presence filling the space beside me. Her eyes, focused and intent, studied my paper with a quiet intensity. The way she carried herself—so absorbed in what she was reading—was almost mesmerizing.

Get a grip, Yoko. She's your teacher.

"Hm, your points are okay, but you can make them stronger," she said softly, laying my paper back down on the table. Her fingers brushed the edges of the page, sending a jolt through me. She picked up my pencil, her fingers so delicate yet firm as she circled areas I needed to improve.

"This should be easier once you fix these points," she added, twirling the pencil between her fingers, her gaze still on me.

But it wasn't her eyes I was focused on. It was her hands—so graceful, so precise as she played with the pencil like it was nothing more than air.

Those fingers...

I shook my head, forcing myself to look away, trying to suppress the thoughts swirling in my mind. "Alright, I'll try again."

She smiled again, softer this time, watching me intently as I rewrote my essay.

It wasn't easy to focus with her gaze on me—every word felt heavier, every line harder to write, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to stop.

I just had to keep writing, even though all I could think about was her.

She broke the silence again, her voice soft and gentle, pulling me out of my tangled thoughts. "Did you understand today's lesson?"

"Hm." I responded absentmindedly, my mind still caught in the web of our quiet moment.

"That doesn't sound convincing enough," she teased, her gaze drifting to my hands still scribbling furiously on the paper. "Your eyes are glued to the page, as if your life depends on it."

I paused, pen still in hand, allowing myself to let go of my racing thoughts. I turned to face her fully, offering a sincere, honest reply.

"Yes, I did."

Her smile stretched wider, and something inside me fluttered.

That smile... it had this warmth, like the sun breaking through clouds on a cold day. She was a vision, one that could easily win any beauty pageant—so why was she here teaching?

"That's good," she said, her voice low and comforting. "So, do you understand why I wrote 'mediocre' on your first assignment now?"

My breath hitched. It clicked.

She wasn't just teaching me about grammar or structure. She was teaching me about the power of words, of how much a simple choice in phrasing could change everything.

"You..." My voice dropped to a whisper, soft with realization. "You were explaining why you wrote that comment?"

Her eyes lit up, a sparkle in them I hadn't seen before. It was the excitement of someone who was glad to see their point finally hit home. It made her even more beautiful, if that was possible.

"What if I said I was?" she asked, her voice playful, a challenge lingering in her tone.

"Then I'd say you've done it well," I murmured. "I understand now."

"What did you understand?" she pressed, her voice lower, softer, as she leaned in just slightly, closing the space between us again.

"That... you were complimenting me in a subtle way." I caught my gaze wandering to her lips, but quickly forced my eyes back to hers, trying to make sense of the words I was saying.

She smiled again, her eyes now heavy-lidded, slow. "Hmm." Her gaze lingered, teasing. "It's rare for me to say someone's work is mediocre, especially when everyone else's work received something harsher."

"Thank you," I said, almost breathlessly, as the realization sank in. This woman—Ms Peraya—had admired my work. My heart leaped in a way that made me feel light, like I was floating.

The room fell into another comfortable silence. It was just the two of us, surrounded by the stillness of the classroom. She was sitting right beside me, so close now that I could feel the warmth of her presence, hear the faintest breath from her lips. Time seemed to stand still, and in this moment, I was entirely lost in her world.

And then, just as quickly, she pulled back, snapping me back to reality. Time resumed, and I felt the weight of the moment slip away.

"You have a lot of potential, Yoko," she said, her voice soft and encouraging. "Your writing is intriguing. But, like I said, there are areas to work on..."

Her words hung in the air, but I was already hanging on every syllable. "If you'd like, I can help you with that."

Her offer took me by surprise. Ms Peraya, who had seemed so distant before, was now offering me something more—something intimate, something real. It made me see her in an entirely new light. Beneath that cool exterior, there was warmth, a warmth that she reserved for those who truly deserved it.

I nodded slowly, my heart racing. "Sounds good."

"Then it's set," she said with a smile, a genuine one that made my chest tighten. "We'll meet every Friday after class. Think of it as extra work help."

"Yeah, Friday sounds good." My voice was a little shaky, but she didn't seem to notice. She nodded, the smile never leaving her face.

"Well, I guess it's time for you to head back, Yoko," she said as she stood up, gathering her things.

My heart sank slightly, the feeling of her presence slipping away from me. I didn't want to leave, didn't want this moment to end. She made me feel safe, comfortable, like everything was okay in the world. But I fought the impulse to stay longer.

Everything had its limits.

"Alright, I'm going now." I quickly packed up my things, trying to mask the flutter in my chest, and stood up, walking toward the door.

"See you again, Ms. Peraya."

"Yoko," she called out, her tone soft and different this time. She didn't say goodbye or 'see you next lesson' like she usually did. There was something more personal in the way she said my name, something that made my heart skip. 

"Call me Faye."

Her request was simple, but it held so much weight. It felt like an invitation, like she was offering me something beyond the professional boundaries we had before. It felt like she was pulling me closer.

I didn't hesitate. "Got it, Faye. I'll see you next lesson."

Her smile widened, warm and genuine, like a promise. "See you on Friday, Yoko."

I walked out of the classroom slowly, the happiness in my chest unexplainable. My phone vibrated in my pocket, Beck's reply about Sunday plans flashing across the screen. I felt a small pang of disappointment, but I pushed it aside. I quickly replied to her, then headed for my car, still feeling the warmth of Faye's presence lingering in my mind.