The morning light was creeping slowly across Whitmore Academy, filtering through the tall dormitory windows in thin, pale stripes. The campus was waking up gradually—doors opening, alarms buzzing, students hurrying down the halls—but for Jasmine, the world felt sluggish, as though everything around her was moving while she remained deeply rooted in place.
She was sitting at the edge of her bed, her sketchbook resting unopened beside her. Her eyes were red from the night before; she had barely slept. The confrontation with Lisa kept replaying in her mind in fragmented bursts—Lisa's trembling voice, the hurt in her eyes, the quiet breaking that Jasmine had felt in her own chest.
And then the rumors.
Whispers drifting through hallways like smoke. Words she hadn't heard directly but felt—sharp, invasive, dangerous. Words capable of destroying careers, friendships, trust.
Nathalie's warning echoed inside her: If you choose to step closer, there are consequences.
Jasmine rubbed her hands together nervously, trying to steady her breath. She needed to keep her head down today. She needed to find Lisa. She needed… something. Peace. Forgiveness. Clarity.
But as she walked to her wardrobe to gather her things for the day, she felt a twist in her stomach. She wasn't ready. Not for the questions. Not for the judgment. Not for the looks she knew she would begin to receive.
Still, she had to face it.
She dressed quietly, tying her hair with trembling fingers. When she finally left her room, the hallway was busy with morning traffic. Students were moving past her quickly, chatting, laughing, comparing their early assignments.
But as she stepped into the stream of bodies, she felt it—heads turning, whispers lowering into thin threads of sound.
"…that's her."
"…problems with Ms. Nathalie…"
"…heard they were alone together again…"
"…Lisa saw—"
Jasmine's heart seized.
She kept her head down and walked faster, gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she made her way downstairs. Her ears were burning with panic. She tried to focus on the sound of her own footsteps, but the voices kept bleeding through.
When she emerged into the courtyard, the fresh morning air brushed against her face, grounding her slightly. Students were scattered across the stone benches, eating breakfast or reviewing notes. The sky was bright, but a chill lingered in the breeze.
Jasmine scanned the area.
No sign of Lisa.
Her pulse tightened. She had hoped—desperately—that Lisa would be waiting for her, or at least available to talk. But the absence was clear, and it sent a new wave of guilt crashing through her.
She took a path around the fountain, keeping to the edge to avoid attention.
But two students from her art history seminar were sitting nearby, speaking in low but not low-enough voices.
"I swear I saw her leaving Ms. Nathalie's studio again yesterday."
"Seriously? Isn't that… like… against the rules?"
"I mean, maybe it's nothing. But why always after hours?"
Jasmine felt her stomach twist.
She stopped walking.
The second student leaned in. "Do you think something is happening?"
"Oh come on," the first scoffed. "Look at her. Look at the way Ms. Nathalie acts around her in class."
Jasmine felt heat rise to her face—shame, fear, anger all tangled into something sharp and suffocating. She forced herself to keep walking, but her knees felt weak.
This was spiraling.
Faster than she imagined.
She needed to get to class. She needed to find Lisa. She needed—
Her breathing hitched.
She needed Nathalie not to get dragged into this.
The thought alone made her quicken her pace as she approached the art building. The tall windows were glowing with the soft morning light. Students were rushing inside, excited or groggy, but ready for another day of lessons.
Jasmine hesitated at the door.
If she walked in, if people kept talking, if things escalated…
She could hurt Nathalie in ways she had never intended.
She stepped into the building anyway.
The hallway was buzzing with early chatter. Jasmine moved through it quietly, but the tension pressed against her skin. Every look felt sharper than usual. Every whisper felt directed at her.
She reached Studio 3B, her heart pounding.
Nathalie was inside, preparing for class, arranging brushes, adjusting the morning lesson on the board. She was wearing a dark green blouse that suited her perfectly, her hair tied loosely behind her. The soft light highlighted the curve of her cheek, the intensity of her focus.
Jasmine froze at the doorway.
Nathalie looked up almost immediately.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant, Jasmine saw recognition flicker in Nathalie's gaze—not just concern, but a sharp intuition. She noticed Jasmine's trembling hands, the tightness around her eyes, the pale strain of exhaustion on her face.
"Jasmine," Nathalie said gently.
Jasmine felt her throat close. "Good morning."
Her voice cracked.
Nathalie's expression shifted subtly—calm but sharper, more alert. She walked closer, her movements controlled and deliberate, her heels tapping softly against the wooden floor.
"You didn't sleep," Nathalie observed quietly.
Jasmine lowered her gaze. "It was… a long night."
Nathalie studied her for a moment. "Come with me."
She led Jasmine to her desk, where they could speak without the rest of the class hearing. Students were still trickling in, settling their materials, oblivious to the storm forming just a few feet away.
"What happened?" Nathalie asked, her voice low, steady, grounding.
Jasmine hesitated. "People are talking."
Nathalie's jaw tensed. "About what?"
"About… us."
Nathalie exhaled slowly, a muscle tightening in her neck. "I see."
Jasmine felt panic rise again. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Stop." Nathalie's voice remained soft, but her presence was firm. "This is not your fault."
"But it started because—"
"It started because people gossip," Nathalie interrupted gently. "Not because of you."
Jasmine looked up at her, her eyes stinging. "But it could hurt you."
Nathalie held her gaze. "I knew the risks the moment I let myself care. I chose them."
Jasmine's breath caught.
Nathalie softened slightly. "But you… you need to be careful. Students can be cruel. And administration even more so."
Jasmine nodded, her throat tightening with emotion.
"We will manage this," Nathalie added. "But you cannot let the fear destroy you. Or your friendships."
Lisa.
Jasmine felt a sharp ache in her chest.
"I have to talk to her," she whispered.
"Yes," Nathalie said simply. "And you have to give her the space she needs. But don't let her walk away believing she isn't important."
Jasmine nodded.
The classroom began to settle as more students arrived. Conversations quieted. Chairs scraped. Brushes clinked against jars.
Nathalie stepped back slightly. "We'll speak later. Not now."
Jasmine looked at her, panic flickering. "Is everything going to be okay?"
Nathalie held her gaze with quiet certainty. "It will be—if you breathe, and stop carrying everything alone."
Then she walked to the front of the room, her professional demeanor slipping effortlessly into place. The class straightened, ready for instruction.
Jasmine took her seat, her heartbeat still rapid, but Nathalie's words lingered in her mind like a stabilizing anchor.
She wasn't alone.
But the illusion of safety didn't last long.
As class progressed, Jasmine felt the eyes on her. Quiet glances. Lingering stares. Students whispering behind canvases. One girl nudged her friend and tilted her head subtly toward Jasmine before hiding a smirk.
Each look felt like a weight added to her chest.
Her brush strokes were shaky. Her hand kept trembling every time Nathalie walked past her. Every movement was a threat—every moment of proximity twisted by the narrative the other students were creating.
At one point, a boy in the back whispered something to his friend, too low for Jasmine to catch—but both of them looked directly at her and snickered.
Nathalie noticed.
She turned her head with quiet precision. Her gaze sharpened. The boys fell silent instantly.
But the damage was spreading.
The class ended slowly. Students packed up their supplies, glancing at Jasmine as though she were carrying something scandalous under her shirt. Jasmine waited until most people had left before she stood up.
But as she stepped into the hallway, she collided with someone.
Lisa.
Her breath froze.
Lisa looked exhausted, her eyes swollen from crying. But there was something else—anger, heartbreak… and something she was trying desperately to bury.
"Lisa," Jasmine breathed.
Lisa didn't answer.
Students were walking around them, glancing over curiously. Jasmine felt her chest tighten. This wasn't the place.
"Can we talk?" Jasmine whispered.
Lisa hesitated, then nodded stiffly. She walked toward a quieter part of the hallway, near the staircase. Jasmine followed, her heart pounding.
When they stopped, Lisa finally lifted her gaze.
"I heard them," she said quietly.
Jasmine felt her stomach drop. "Lisa—"
"I heard everything," Lisa repeated. "About you. About her."
"It's not true," Jasmine said quickly. "Nothing happened. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing at all."
Lisa swallowed, her voice trembling. "But you like her."
Jasmine froze.
Her silence was enough.
Lisa laughed bitterly. "Of course."
"Lisa," Jasmine whispered, her voice breaking, "I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know," Lisa said. "And that's the worst part. You're hurting me without meaning to."
Jasmine felt tears forming. "Tell me how to fix this."
"You can't." Lisa shook her head. "Not today."
The hallway was silent.
Lisa stepped back. "Just… stay away for a while."
Jasmine's heart cracked. "Please don't do this."
"I have to," Lisa whispered. "Because watching you is killing me."
Then she walked away, leaving Jasmine motionless.
And as Jasmine stood there, breath unsteady, she heard it again—
A whisper from the staircase:
"So it's true then…"
Jasmine turned sharply. Two girls scurried away, pretending they hadn't spoken.
The rumors were alive.
And they were hungry.