The sun was sinking behind the academy's iron gates when Jasmine stepped into the art building the next morning, her breath forming a small cloud in the crisp air. The corridors were quieter than usual, the soft echo of footsteps blending with the faint scent of oil paint drifting from distant studios. Jasmine's heartbeat quickened as she approached the familiar door—Studio 3B. The brass handle gleamed faintly, polished by countless hands, but to her it felt like the entrance to another world. A world where her emotions were constantly being pulled in directions she barely understood.
Inside, the studio was dimly lit, the golden morning rays filtering through wide windows and illuminating dust particles that seemed suspended in time. Students murmured as they prepared their brushes, canvases, and charcoal sets. Jasmine's eyes went immediately to the center of the room.
Mme Nathalie was adjusting a spotlight above a marble sculpture, her slender fingers moving with precise elegance. Her auburn hair was loosely tied, a few strands slipping free and framing her face with effortless allure. The soft glow from the window cast a halo around her. Jasmine felt her chest tighten—Why does she look so unreal?
"Morning, Jasmine," Lisa said quietly, appearing at her side. Her tone was soft but carried a heaviness that hadn't been there weeks ago. Lisa's eyes followed Jasmine's line of sight toward Nathalie, and a flicker of pain crossed her expression before she masked it with a strained smile.
"Oh—morning…" Jasmine replied, though her voice trailed off, her attention still caught by the professor's movements. She tried to pull herself back to reality, but her mind kept drifting.
Lisa took her seat next to Jasmine, her hands fidgeting nervously with her pencils. She watched Jasmine watching Nathalie, every glance a silent blow to her heart. Why can't she see me? Why can't she notice how hard this is for me? Lisa looked down, cheeks burning with emotion she could barely contain.
Nathalie clapped her hands lightly, calling the class to order. "Today we're studying light and shadow," she announced, her voice confident yet soothing. "Observe carefully. Don't just look with your eyes—feel the relationship between brightness and darkness. Art is not imitation. It's revelation."
Jasmine hung on every syllable. The class began sketching, and silence fell over the room except for the rustle of paper and the faint scratching of charcoal. But Jasmine wasn't thinking about shadows on the sculpture; her thoughts were roaming, spiraling deeper into fascination.
Nathalie walked slowly between the easels, her perfume—soft, floral, intoxicating—trailing behind her. Jasmine kept her hand steady as she drew, but her pulse was racing. She could feel Nathalie's presence approaching long before the professor stopped behind her.
"Jasmine," Nathalie said softly, leaning in to look at the sketch. Jasmine felt the warmth of her breath against her cheek, and something electric shot through her body. "Your composition is strong… but be careful with the shading here." Nathalie reached out and guided Jasmine's hand, her fingers brushing lightly against Jasmine's knuckles.
Time stopped.
The slightest touch sent a shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat. She's so close… she's touching me… Jasmine's heart was beating so fast she feared it might echo through the room.
Lisa froze mid-sketch when she noticed the scene. Her grip tightened around her pencil until it snapped in two. The sudden crack echoed, drawing a few startled glances, but no one paid attention for long. No one except Jasmine, who turned toward her with a flash of concern.
"Lisa? You okay?"
Lisa forced a smile, though her eyes glistened slightly. "Yeah, it just slipped." Her voice trembled.
Nathalie glanced briefly in Lisa's direction but returned her focus to Jasmine's sketch. "You're improving," she said with a soft smile. "Keep it up."
When she walked away, Jasmine exhaled as though she had been holding her breath for minutes.
The rest of the class felt like a blur. Jasmine tried to focus on her drawing, but her mind was tangled with the lingering sensation of Nathalie's touch. Lisa, meanwhile, struggled to keep her emotions in check, her sketches growing increasingly messy. She rubbed her eyes discreetly, frustrated at herself for feeling so weak.
As the class ended, students began to pack their materials. Nathalie dismissed them with her usual calm authority, but just as Jasmine reached the door, Nathalie called out:
"Jasmine, could you stay a moment?"
Jasmine felt her stomach flip. Lisa halted mid-step, her eyes widening before she quickly looked away. She left the studio, her heartbeat heavy, wondering if this was the moment Jasmine would be pulled completely out of her reach.
Inside the quieting studio, Jasmine approached Nathalie, trying to appear composed despite the dizziness rising inside her. "Yes, ma'am?"
Nathalie rested against her desk, arms crossed loosely, her eyes locked onto Jasmine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "I wanted to speak with you about your technique," she said. "You have a sharp eye, but your lines hesitate. You're holding back—both in your art and… perhaps elsewhere."
Jasmine swallowed hard. "I… I don't understand."
"Don't you?" Nathalie's tone softened, but her gaze remained piercing. "Art requires honesty. Vulnerability. Whatever you're suppressing—emotion, desire, fear—it will show in your work."
Jasmine's breath caught. Is she talking about… me? About what I feel? Her cheeks flushed deeply, and she lowered her gaze.
Nathalie stepped closer, close enough for Jasmine to feel the warmth radiating from her. "Tell me, Jasmine," she murmured, "what is it you're afraid to express?"
Jasmine's lips parted soundlessly. Every word she wanted to say—I think about you all the time. I want to be near you. I don't understand why you affect me so much—burned on her tongue. But she couldn't speak them.
"I… I don't know," she whispered.
Nathalie tilted her head slightly, studying her face as though trying to read unspoken thoughts. "When you're ready to be honest," she said quietly, "your art will evolve."
Their eyes met again, and the air between them felt dangerously charged.
"Thank you… Mme Nathalie," Jasmine managed. Her voice was barely more than a breath.
"You may go now," Nathalie said, though her tone held an undercurrent Jasmine couldn't decipher.
Jasmine left the studio feeling unsteady, her heart full, confused, overwhelmed. She walked down the hallway almost mechanically, her thoughts replaying every moment like a fever dream.
Outside, hidden behind a stone pillar, Lisa had been waiting—hoping—dreading.
When Jasmine emerged, Lisa stepped hesitantly into view. "What… what did she want?" she asked, her voice softer than the wind.
Jasmine hesitated. "Just feedback. On my technique."
Lisa nodded slowly, though she didn't believe it. "You're spending… a lot of time with her lately."
"She's my professor," Jasmine replied gently, though her attempt at neutrality sounded unconvincing even to herself. "She's helping me improve."
Lisa looked down, her voice trembling. "Jasmine… do you even notice how much this hurts me?"
The world seemed to pause.
Jasmine's eyes widened. "Lisa… what do you mean?"
Lisa's fingers curled around her sleeve, twisting the fabric. "Every day I watch you look at her the way I… the way I wish you'd look at me." Her courage faltered as tears filled her eyes. "But you don't. You never do."
Jasmine's breath caught. "Lisa… I didn't know."
"How could you?" Lisa whispered. "I never said it. I couldn't. I was scared you'd push me away."
The vulnerability in her voice sliced straight through Jasmine's chest. She stepped closer, gently touching Lisa's arm. "Lisa… you're important to me. More than you know. I just… I'm confused. About everything."
Lisa looked up, her eyes shimmering. "I don't want to lose you. To her. Or to anyone…"
Jasmine pulled her into a warm, grounding embrace. "You won't lose me."
But as she said it, guilt twisted inside her—because her mind immediately flashed back to Nathalie's eyes, her voice, her touch.
The triangle had begun tightening, a quiet storm building inside the academy's walls.
That evening, Jasmine lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling. Lisa's confession—half-spoken, half-buried—had left a deep ache in her chest. She cared for Lisa. She didn't want to hurt her. But the pull she felt toward Nathalie was undeniable, intoxicating, terrifying.
What am I doing? Why can't I think straight anymore?
She closed her eyes, trying to silence her thoughts, but instead, she saw Nathalie leaning close, whispering about honesty, about vulnerability. She felt again the warmth of her fingers guiding her hand. Her heart throbbed painfully.
Outside her window, the academy grounds grew still under the spreading night. Jasmine felt caught in a dangerous current—one she wasn't sure she wanted to escape.
But the shadows were moving now. And they were only going to deepen.