Chapter 51

NOTE FROM MEOWINGHAM: Sorry for the short chapter! I am currently on a 2-week overseas work trip hence I might not be able to write out each chapter diligently or update consistently! But I'll try my best to update whenever I can! (bows apologetically)

Yoko

Monday.

The word practically buzzes in my head as I blink awake, the early morning light slipping through the curtains and casting a soft glow across the room. It takes me a second to remember why I'm feeling like a kid hopped up on too much sugar.

Edinburgh.

This is the week we leave. The trip we've been talking about for months, and now it's actually happening.

I grin to myself, already feeling that giddy flutter in my chest... until the realization hits me like a textbook to the face.

I haven't packed a single thing.

The excitement dims just enough to make room for a little panic, but I shove it aside. That's future Yoko's problem. Today Yoko has other things to worry about—like getting to school on time and trying not to look like a zombie.

I drag myself out of bed, shuffle to the bathroom, and freshen up, splashing cold water on my face like it's going to magically wake me up. Spoiler: it doesn't.

Once I'm halfway presentable, I rummage through my closet, pulling on a comfy pair of jeans and—because I'm that girlfriend—one of Faye's oversized black shirts. It hangs off my shoulder just right, and I can still faintly smell her perfume on the fabric.

I smile to myself as I tug it into place, grabbing my bag before heading downstairs.

Ham's waiting by the door, his tail thumping against the floor like he's been patiently waiting his whole life for me to wake up.

"Hey, buddy," I murmur, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He lets out a soft huff, leaning into my touch like the drama king he is. After a few more ear scratches and filling his bowl, I grab my keys and head out the door, the excitement of the trip bubbling up again as I slide into the driver's seat.

By the time I pull into the school parking lot, the buzz in my chest is full-on electric. I spot Ink, Big, and Marissa by the lockers, their voices already echoing down the hall as I approach.

"Finally," Ink says, spotting me with a dramatic wave. "We thought you were ditching us to pack or something."

I snort. "Please. I haven't even started packing."

Big laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "You're gonna be the one scrambling the night before, throwing random stuff into your suitcase."

"Correction—" I point at him, "—I'll be scrambling the morning of."

Marissa gasps like I've committed a crime. "How are you not packed yet?!" she exclaims, eyes wide. "I finished packing yesterday!"

Ink immediately jumps in, her grin wicked. "Of course you did. You're probably the first person in the entire cohort to pack. You've been excited since the minute they announced the trip."

Marissa pouts, but we all know it's true. She's been counting down the days since forever.

We continue bickering about who's bringing what—Big swears he's only packing "the essentials," which probably means nothing but socks and a toothbrush—while Ink insists on bringing an extra suitcase "just in case."

"Just in case of what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"In case I need options," she says, dead serious.

Before I can roast her, the bell rings, cutting through our chatter. We groan collectively, grabbing our bags and heading toward our first class.

For Ink and me, that means English Literature.

We're still talking about the trip, our voices hushed but excited as we walk down the hall.

"I can't believe we're going to Edinburgh," Ink whispers, practically vibrating with energy. "Imagine all the bookstores—"

"And the coffee shops," I add, grinning.

We're so caught up in our conversation that we don't even realize we've reached the classroom.

Or that we're being watched.

It's not until Ink's eyes widen slightly, her gaze shifting over my shoulder, that I turn—and there she is.

Faye.

Standing by the door with one eyebrow raised, arms crossed, and that infuriatingly smug look on her face like she's been standing there for ages, just waiting for us to notice.

I feel my cheeks heat up instantly, but Ink?

She grins and leans in, whispering, "Busted."

I groan, shoving her lightly as we step into the classroom, doing my very best to avoid Faye's gaze, even though I can feel her eyes on me.

Great. This is going to be an interesting class.

Ink and I shuffle into the classroom, doing our best to look inconspicuous—which, let's be honest, is impossible when you've just been caught mid-gossip outside the door by Ms Peraya herself.

"Why are you both late?"

Her voice slices through the chatter like a knife—calm, controlled, but with that familiar bite of authority. But there's a glint in her eye that only I can read, that tiny flicker of amusement beneath her stern exterior.

I mumble a quick, "Sorry, Ms Peraya," while Ink tosses out a half-hearted, "Won't happen again," as we slide into our seats like we've literally melted into the floor.

Ink leans over, diving right back into her Edinburgh trip excitement like we didn't just narrowly avoid public execution. But me?

I'm not listening.

Not even remotely.

Because that's when I see her.

And holy shit.

Faye stands at the front of the classroom, arms crossed over her chest, clad in a black leather jacket that looks illegal on her. Underneath, a simple black tee hugs her frame, tucked effortlessly into a high-waisted denim skirt. The whole look screams effortless cool, like she just rolled out of bed and into a photoshoot.

But it's not the leather jacket or the perfectly tucked shirt that's making my heart short-circuit.

It's the glasses.

Thin, black-rimmed specs perched delicately on the bridge of her nose, framing those sharp eyes in a way that makes my brain evaporate.

I've seen Faye wear glasses before—lounging on the couch, grading papers at her apartment, reading in bed while I trace lazy circles on her arm. But this? Seeing her like this, standing in front of the class, all stern authority with those glasses?

Game over.

The specs give her this ridiculously hot, intellectual vibe, like she's about to quote Shakespeare while casually ruining my entire existence.

She glances up from her desk, and for a moment—just a moment—our eyes lock.

And I swear, time stops.

There's the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she knows exactly what she's doing to me, and it takes everything in me not to melt into a puddle right there in my seat.

Ink nudges me under the desk, pulling me out of my daze.

"Yoko," she hisses, her voice dripping with amusement, "you're drooling."

I blink rapidly, heat rushing to my cheeks as I whip my gaze down to my notebook, pretending to be very interested in the blank page in front of me.

"I am not," I mumble, but the way my voice cracks makes it very clear that I am, in fact, not fine.

Ink stifles a snicker, but I tune her out, trying—and failing—to focus on anything other than the woman standing at the front of the room, looking like she stepped straight out of my wildest dreams.

Despite my entire body screaming at me to keep staring at Faye's glasses-clad, leather-jacket-wearing self, I manage—by some miracle—to shift my focus back to class.

Kind of.

Faye's standing at the front of the room, her voice smooth and steady as she reads aloud from the textbook.

"'I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)...'"

My breath hitches. Of course she picked this poem. E.E. Cummings. I carry your heart with me.

Her voice wraps around the words like silk, soft and deliberate, and I swear, each syllable sinks into my skin. The classroom fades—the desks, the scribbling pens, the faint sound of someone coughing in the back—it all dissolves into the background until there's only her.

The way her lips shape the words. The slight crease between her brows as she emphasizes certain lines. The soft cadence of her voice, lulling me into this haze where the only thing that exists is her and this poem that suddenly feels way too personal.

'I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)...'

I shift in my seat, my heart thudding in a rhythm that feels entirely out of sync with the rest of the world.

When she finishes reading, she looks up, scanning the room. "Now," she says, setting the book down with a soft thud,"let's talk about what Cummings is really trying to say here."

As she starts asking questions, I pretend to write notes. I should be jotting down brilliant insights about the poem, but instead, my pen drifts across the page, and before I even realize it—

Faye.

I scribble her name in the margins, looping the y with unnecessary flourish.

Ms Peraya.

I add a little heart next to it and immediately roll my eyes at myself.

Pathetic.

But I can't help it. It's like my brain's been hijacked by her soft voice, the glint of her glasses, the way her fingers brush the edge of the book as she speaks.

Eventually, she assigns us a short reflection to work on, and I force myself to focus. My pen finally moves with purpose, words spilling onto the page as I channel all this ridiculous energy into the assignment.

But the second the bell rings, signaling the end of class, my heart picks up again.

Students shuffle out of the room, their voices rising in post-class chatter, but I stay put, moving deliberately slow as I pack up my things. Ink throws me a knowing glance on her way out, but I just shrug, pretending like I'm not totally scheming.

Once the last student disappears and the door swings shut behind them, I take a deep breath.

It's just us now.

I walk to the door, fingers curling around the handle as I gently push it closed, the soft click echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

When I turn around, Faye's already looking at me, her glasses still perched on her nose, that leather jacket still making my heart do stupid things.

But it's her smile that undoes me.

Soft. Warm.

The kind of smile that says this—these stolen moments between us—is just as important to her as it is to me.

I lean against the door, letting my eyes drink her in, from the way her hair falls loose around her face to the way her fingers tap lightly against the desk, like she's trying to pretend she wasn't waiting for this moment all along.

Neither of us says anything for a beat, the silence stretching between us, filled with unspoken words and shared glances.

She's not just my teacher. She's mine.

The room hums with this quiet tension, the kind that only builds when it's just us. I push off the door, my heart doing a little somersault as I slowly make my way toward her.

Faye's eyes track my movements, that soft smile still playing on her lips. When I stop just in front of her desk, she quirks an eyebrow, tilting her head ever so slightly.

"Yes?" she murmurs, her voice that perfect mix of teasing and curious.

I bite my lip, trying—and failing—not to grin. "It's really hard to focus in class, you know."

Her brow furrows, a hint of concern flickering across her face. "Why?"

I gesture vaguely toward her face, my eyes locking onto the glasses perched on her nose. "This. You, wearing specs." I let out a dramatic sigh. "It's distracting."

Faye chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. "I was just too lazy to put in my contacts this morning." She shrugs, like it's the most casual thing in the world, but my heart's already doing backflips.

I pout, crossing my arms over my chest. "But what if someone falls for you?"

Her eyes widen slightly, and then she laughs—a soft, breathy sound that makes my chest tighten. "Nonsense. Who would?"

I narrow my eyes, leaning in just a little, my voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Oh, it wouldn't be hard." I let my gaze drift over her, making sure she feels every word. "With your charming voice when you read poetry, that calm, collected demeanour..." I trail off, my eyes flicking to her glasses, "and now, with specs? It's basically an open invitation for any student to fall for you."

Faye rolls her eyes, but I don't miss the faint pink creeping up her cheeks. She's blushing.

And god, I love that I can do that to her.

She shakes her head, but there's a soft glow in her eyes now, something tender and warm. "Even if someone does fall," she murmurs, stepping closer, her fingers brushing lightly against my arm, "my heart's only for you."

The words hit me like a soft wave, washing over every inch of me, settling deep in my chest.

Before I can respond, Faye leans in, closing the distance between us. Her lips meet mine in a kiss that's slow, deliberate, and full of every unspoken word we don't need to say out loud.

Her hand cups my cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over my skin, and I melt into her, the world outside these four walls fading into nothing.

The soft brush of her lips against mine isn't nearly enough.

Before Faye can even fully pull back, I lean in again, rising on my toes to capture her mouth in another kiss—this one a little deeper, a little more desperate, like I can somehow bottle this feeling and carry it with me through the rest of the day.

Her hands settle on my waist, grounding me, but just as I lose myself in the warmth of her, she gently pulls away, her breath brushing against my lips as she whispers, "Yoko..."

There's a reluctant smile on her face, her forehead resting lightly against mine. "I have another class, baby," she murmurs, her voice laced with amusement but tinged with regret.

I groan softly, letting my head fall against her shoulder for a second before stepping back.

She smooths a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering just a beat too long. "Go to your next class," she teases, her eyes glinting. "Before someone notices you're missing."

I sigh dramatically but nod, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Fine," I huff, but the grin tugging at my lips betrays me. I pause at the door, glancing back over my shoulder. "I'll see you later?"

Faye's smile softens, and the warmth in her gaze makes my heart do a little flip. "See you after school, darling."

Darling.

The word wraps around me like a hug, and I can't help the stupid grin that spreads across my face.

I blow her a quick, playful kiss, watching as her eyes sparkle with laughter. Then, with one last glance, I slip out the door, my heart soaring as I head to my next class.

Because no matter how long the day feels, I know exactly where I'll end up—right back in her arms.