Red strings, paper hearts—
cheap decorations cluttering the halls,
couples parading around
with their flowers and chocolates.
I watched it all,
not bitter, just past it.
I’d had my fill of that crap.

But now, it’s him,
the man I can’t name,
the one who keeps me hidden,
because this would burn us both down.
“Good morning, sir,” I say,
and he barely looks up,
“Morning,” he grunts back,
same as every Tuesday.
I take my seat,
start typing,
but my mind’s on him,
on those moments we steal
when no one’s watching.

A quick brush as he grabs a paper,
his fingers against mine—
it’s electric,
a jolt that wakes me up.
He leans in,
“Are you sure about that?”
he whispers,
and there’s more in his voice
than just work.

Before I leave, he says,
“Olivia…”
hands me two discs,
“Songs I picked for you,”
no bullshit, just what it is.
“My man,” I mutter,
my sweet old-fashioned man,
and I smile,
holding back everything else.

Just as I’m about to leave,
he grabs my hand,
pulls me close,
kisses me, quick and soft,
like he’s marking me,
“Take care, my Valentine,”
he says,
and I’m out the door.

Outside, my classmates ask why I’m blushing,
why I’m grinning like a fool.
They don’t know
our grumpy professor
is the reason
my Valentine’s Day
doesn’t suck.

© reddragonfly

#studentxprofessor
#forbiddenlove