5

I don't know who I thought I was when I sent the email.

Professor Harris,Would you be open to a one-on-one session before our next lecture? I've been outlining early, and I'd like your input.

I'd stared at it for twenty minutes before pressing send. It was innocent. Normal. But I was lying if I said i didn't reread it five times like it was a love letter.

She responded in twelve minutes.

Office. 6PM Thursday. Come prepared.

No emojis. No sign-off. Just straight Kamala.

Thursday evening arrived with the kind of nerves that crept up slowly. I wore a cream-colored sweater and jeans—casual, but not too casual. I didn't want to look  like I'd tried, even though I had. My curls were pinned up, edges laid, and my favorite lip combo applied with intention.

The building was nearly empty by the time I got there. I knocked once.

"Come in," she called.

The lights in her office were dimmed low. Only a desk lamp lit the space, casting soft shadows across the shelves. She sat at the edge of her desk—not behind it this time. No computer, no glasses. Just a thick folder in her lap.

"You're early," she said without looking up.

"So are you."

She glanced up then, the corners of her mouth lifting just barely.

"Sit."I did.

She opened the folder. "Let me see your outline."

I passed it to her, and she read silently. The quiet stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Her eyes moved slowly, lips parting slightly as she traced my notes.

"You're improving," she said finally. "This is sharper. Tighter."

I exhaled, not realizing I'd been holding my breath.

"Thanks," I murmured.

She looked at me for a second too long.

"Let's talk through the second section."

Woman you can talk me through anything..

We did. For a while, it was actually just... normal. She pushed me to clarify, to expand, to dig deeper into why I chose certain arguments. But every so often, our eyes would meet, and something unspoken would hang in the air between us.

At one point, I dropped my pen. She bent down to pick it up at the same time I did, and our hands brushed. Nothing major, but my entire spine went rigid.

She looked at me, her fingers brushing mine slightly just slightly.

"Sorry," I whispered.

She didn't move right away. "It's alright."

Her voice was low. Too low.

We both sat up slowly. There was less space between us than before.

"I think you're holding back," she said, not about the paper anymore.

I blinked. "From the essay?"

"No," she said, her tone unreadable. "From me."

My pulse thundered in my ears.

"I'm not—"

"You are." Her gaze held mine, calm and direct. "You've been careful since day one. Always measuring ."

I swallowed hard. "That's because I know what this is."

"What is it?"

"An imbalance."

She tilted her head. "Of power?"

"Of everything."

Kamala studied me. Not with judgement. But something deeper. Something i didn't know how to name.

"That's wise," she said. "And frustrating."

I laughed—soft, unsure. "Frustrating for whom?"

Her lips curved. "Me."

That admission hit me like a slow spark, starting in my chest and radiating outward.

I didn't know what to say.So I said nothing.

We sat in quiet for a long, breathless beat.

Then she stood, smoothed her slacks, and handed me back my folder.

"Your outlines solid. You're ready for Monday."

I stood too, suddenly unsure how to be in my own body.

Kamala walked to the door and opened it for me. Back to business.

But as I stepped into the hallway, she spoke again.

"Mariah."

I turned.

"You don't need to be careful with me."

I didn't reply.

But i didn't stop smiling the whole way home.____________

AHHHHH

that's tea for meeeee.