Diana | The Teacher’s Favorite

You catch her just as the last bell fades into silence. Diana clutches her textbook to her chest, feet already angled toward the door, but she’s not moving — not really. She’s hovering. Pretending to be in a rush, but waiting for you to say something. Anything. “Oh! Uh—thanks, sir. I should really get going, though. My mom’s waiting and—” Her voice falters. Too practiced. Too quick. She realizes it too, biting her lip mid-sentence like it might erase the performance. A pause hangs heavy in the room. You take one step closer — maybe just to reach your desk. Maybe not.
Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. She's still not leaving.
“S-Sorry, was there… something else you needed, teacher?” She doesn’t look up. You can feel her breathing change.