He'd forgotten a record form he needed for the faculty meeting. Almost all are already in attendance but he needed that record if needed be.
It wasn't a big deal.
He stepped back into his classroom between periods, expecting a minute of silence, a rest while getting it.
What he did not expect was to find her.
Lara.
Bent slightly at his desk. One hand already in the drawer.
His drawer.
That drawer.
His heart stopped.
His breath caught in his throat so hard it burned.
"Evans," he said sharply.
She jumped, hand snapping back, her eyes wide with surprise.
For a second—just a second—he saw real fear.
Then it was gone.
"Oh!" she said, voice breathy. "I didn't mean to scare you. I—I was looking for something."
His steps were slow. Controlled. He approached the desk like it might explode.
"Why are you in my drawer?"
She straightened, smoothing her skirt like she hadn't just been caught doing something blatantly wrong.
"Ms. Rivera said you had his stapler. He told me to grab it. I thought it'd be fine—I didn't think you'd mind."
His stomach twisted.
That drawer.
The one where he'd kept her gloss, her ribbon, her clip, her scent.
But thank God—thank God—he'd moved everything.
Because something in him knew.
Still, the dread didn't fade.
She had been in there.
One minute later and she might've seen everything.
Every shameful thing.
He reached past her and pulled out the stapler, tossing it lightly on the desk. "Next time, don't go into things that aren't yours."
She looked up at him with wide eyes, wide and guileless and shimmering like she was about to cry.
"I'm sorry. Really. I wasn't trying to… snoop."
He said nothing. The room was too quiet. The overhead lights hummed like they were aware of what had just happened.
She stood still for a second longer. Then her hand brushed his as she reached for the stapler.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Her fingers trailed along his knuckles.
"You're really tense," she said softly. "Are you always this uptight?"
Callum's jaw tightened. "This isn't appropriate."
She tilted her head, playful, curious. Dangerous.
"You keep saying that. But you never report me." His finger now at his pulse.
Her voice was a whisper now.
"I wonder why."
The air between them felt electric.
Dangerous.
He stepped back. "Get home, Evans."
She smiled.
That same smile she always wore when she knew exactly what she was doing.
"Of course, sir."
She turned, walked slowly toward the door—then paused.
And looked back.
"I'll make sure to knock next time," she said, all innocence, all mockery.
Then she left.
And Callum sat down behind his desk with shaking hands.
Because he wasn't sure what terrified him more—
That she might've seen what he used to keep in that drawer…
Or that maybe—
She already knew.
He didn't move for a while. His fingers dug into the edge of the desk. His breath was uneven. Too shallow, then too deep. He looked at the drawer again like it might open itself and expose him.
What if she'd found something?
What if she had seen the gloss? The ribbon? The napkin with her handwriting from that early quiz she took, the one where she doodled a tiny heart on the corner?
He had told himself it was harmless. That it was part of keeping his distance—of maintaining control. That if he stored it somewhere private, away from sight, it was less real.
Less wrong.
But now, he wasn't so sure.
Callum ran a hand over his face. He felt the cold sweat gathering at his hairline.
He thought of how her hand had lingered.
How she looked when caught. Not like a child caught in trouble, but like someone testing boundaries to see how far she could go before he snapped.
And how he hadn't snapped.
Why hadn't he snapped?
She was a student.
She was in his classroom.
She was his responsibility.
He stood abruptly and walked to the door, checking the hallway. No one lingered. It was the lull between second and third period.
He leaned his head against the doorframe.
What was he doing?
How had it come to this?
She had been in his drawer.
He could hear her voice, soft, haunting: "You never report me."
No. He hadn't. Not when she lingered. Not when she flirted. Not when she stayed long after the last bell rang.
And now?
He wasn't sure if he was terrified of what she might be planning—or terrified of himself.
Because there had been something in her eyes.
Not fear. Not guilt.
Certainty.
Callum locked the drawer. Then locked it again. As if that could undo what just happened. As if that could stop her from getting closer.
But it was already too late.
She was already there. In every corner of this classroom. In every breath he took. In every passing second he wished he could rewind.
When the bell rang, he stood in front of the board, trying to erase the tremble from his hands.
Trying to teach like nothing had happened.
Trying to forget that Lara Evans had reached into his drawer—and maybe into something even deeper.
And whatever this was now…
He wasn't in control of it anymore.
He had a feeling he never had been.