One afternoon,
I sneaked into his house,
tucked away on campus,
no classes, just time to kill.
We’d just sat down,
on that old loveseat couch,
when we heard voices
calling from the gate,
"Sir, sir!"

My heart jumped,
his eyes widened,
and we panicked—
he told me to hide
in the bedroom, quick.
I slipped inside,
trying to stifle a laugh
as my classmates,
the other one was also my roommate,
stood outside
clueless,
asking for thesis advice.

He greeted them,
a little too quickly,
his voice tight,
a bit too high.
They walked in,
and I could hear every word—
him trying to sound calm,
while I bit my lip
to keep from laughing,
barely breathing.

Then it happened—
I kicked the bedside table,
a clatter, too loud,
and everything went still.
"Sir, aren't you alone?"
one of them asked,
suspicion creeping in.
He didn’t miss a beat,
"It’s just the cat," he said,
his voice smooth,
like he’d practiced this lie
a hundred times.

They bought it,
asked their questions,
and left,
none the wiser.
The door clicked shut,
and I heard his footsteps,
slow, deliberate,
as he walked to the bedroom,
arms crossed.

I peeked out,
grinning,
"Meow, meow,"
I teased,
still catching my breath.
He just stood there,
smirking,
eyes narrowing
with that familiar glint.
"This meow meow," he said,
voice low,
"is about to meow nonstop,"
his words heavy,
like a promise,
and I knew then
we wouldn’t be quiet
for long.

© reddragonfly

#studentxprofessor #forbiddenlove