6

Kamala's POV

The event was already a mistake.

An alumni networking mixer in the law library's ballroom, low lights and cheap wine, old colleagues shaking hands with newer ones. I usually avoided these functions unless it was absolutely necessary.

Tonight, it was necessary.

I stood near the back of the room, a glass of white wine in hand, nodding politely at a retired judge droning on about Supreme Court appointments.

I wasn't paying attention.

I was looking for her.

Mariah.

I spotted her easily. She wore a navy blue dress, simple but fitted, hugging curves she didn't seem to realize she owned. Her hair was half-up, half-down, gold hoops glinting when she laughed.

She was talking to a boy.

Someone her age—maybe slightly older—dressed in a too-tight suit, leaning just a little too close.

I sipped my wine and ignored the sharp, ridiculous stab in my chest.

She laughed at something he said, tilting her head back, hand brushing his arm lightly. Not intentional. Not flirtatious. Natural.

She was radiant.

And she wasn't mine.

She's your student, I reminded myself sharply. She's twenty-three. She's off limits.

And yet, when I saw him glance at her mouth—lingering—I felt something ugly unfurl in my gut.

I hated that. Hated feeling anything at all.

When I reached them, Mariah noticed me first. Her whole face lit up—not in a student-meeting-professor way, but something softer. Brighter.

"Professor Harris," she said, voice warm, stepping slightly toward me.

The boy looked between us, sizing me up. He extended a hand.

"Devon," he said. "Senior, Poli Sci."

I shook his hand briefly. "Kamala Harris."

Devon's grin widened. "We were just talking about campaign management internships. Mariah's thinking about D.C. after graduation."

"Good choice," I said, my voice even.

Mariah looked slightly nervous, like she knew I wasn't here to just say hello.

I turned slightly, addressing her but making sure Devon could hear.

"You know," I said, tilting my head, "opportunities here require... focus. Commitment. A certain maturity."

Mariah's cheeks flushed.

Devon looked vaguely insulted, like he caught the edge of my words but wasn't sure how to challenge them.

"Mariah's one of the best in our department," he said, trying to salvage the mood.

I smiled thinly. "I know."

Devon's phone buzzed, and he glanced at it. "I should—yeah, I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the crowd.

I turned fully to Mariah.

She crossed her arms lightly over her chest. Defensive. Slightly amused.

"Were you trying to scare him off?" She asked, voice low.

"Was I successful?"

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Maybe."

I let my eyes drift over her for a moment longer than I should have.

"You look very... grown up tonight," I said.

Her eyes widened slightly, breath catching.

Before she could respond, a hand touched my arm.

"Kamala!" an old colleague from the Justice Department said, pulling me into a hug.

I let it happen, stepping back into polite conversation—but not before glancing at Mariah once, catching the flash of something sharp in her eyes.

Jealousy.

It looked sexy on her.

The rest of the night, I made a point of being surrounded. I let people pull me into conversations, laughing at old memories, nodding thoughtfully at new ones. I caught Mariah watching from across the room, once, twice, a third time.

Each glance was a tether tightening between us.

At the end of the night, when the crowd began thinning, I found her again—this time leaning against a column near the door, arms folded, pretending to scroll on her phone.

I approached.

She didn't look up until I was right in front of her.

"You enjoyed yourself," she said coolly.

"Professional obligation," I replied.

Her eyes sparkled, but her jaw was tight.

"You were... very social tonight," she said, pretending to sound casual.

"Did it bother you?"

"No."

"Liar."

Her head snapped up at that. The air between us crackled.

"I don't have the right to be jealous," she said, voice low.

"Maybe not," I said, leaning in just slightly, just enough that only she could hear. "But you are."

Her breath hitched.

"And," I added, letting my hand brush hers for just a fraction of a second as I stepped past, "I don't mind." __________

Is it hot in here or is it just me?? 🤭