The Delhi fog was thicker than usual today, a suffocating blanket of white that pressed against the frosted windowpanes of the classroom. It was barely 2:00 PM, but the light was already dying, casting long, gloomy shadows across the rows of empty desks.
Kai zipped his blazer up to his chin, shivering not just from the damp cold that seeped into his bones, but from the words his friend Rahul had just whispered to him in the hallway.
"She wants to see you. Now."
Rahul had looked terrified, his eyes wide. "Ms. Anastasia. In her private cabin. She has your Biology mid-terms, Kai. You're dead."
Kai stood outside the heavy oak door of the Faculty Wing. His breath hitched in his throat, visible as a puff of white steam in the frigid corridor. The air here smelled different-less like the damp wool and dust of the student dorms, and more like floor polish and silence.
He raised a hand to knock, his knuckles trembling slightly. He wasn't just afraid of the marks. He was afraid of her.
"Enter," a voice called out from inside. It was calm, precise, and laced with that faint, unplaceable accent that made every syllable sound like a command.
Kai pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit him was the warmth. A room heater hummed in the corner, glowing with orange coils, making the air in the small cabin toasty and thick. The second thing that hit him was the scent-vanilla, sandalwood, and something sharp, like ozone.
Ms. Anastasia Volkov sat behind her mahogany desk, bathed in the golden light of a table lamp.
She was a vision that didn't belong in this dreary winter. While everyone else was bundled in shapeless sweaters and shawls, she was impeccable. She wore a fitted beige top that clung to her frame like a second skin, the corset-style bodice emphasizing the dangerous curve of her waist and the swell of her chest. Her ice-blonde hair was pulled back into a severe, high ponytail that cascaded down her back like liquid silk.
She didn't look up immediately. She was dragging a red pen across a stack of papers, the scratching sound loud in the silence.
"Close the door, Kai," she said, her eyes still on the paper.
He fumbled for the latch, clicking it shut. "G-Good afternoon, Ma'am."
Anastasia stopped writing. She slowly lifted her head. Her eyes, a piercing, electric blue, locked onto his. There was no warmth in them, only a cool, predatory assessment. She picked up a single sheet of paper from the desk-his paper-and held it up.
The red ink bled across the page like a wound. 38/100.
"Come here," she ordered softly.
Kai's legs felt like lead as he walked toward the desk, stopping just at the edge. The heat of the room was making him sweat under his winter uniform.
"I... I can explain, Ma'am," Kai stammered, his gaze involuntarily dropping to the neckline of her beige dress before snapping back up in panic. "The physics coaching... it takes up so much time, I couldn't revise the-"
"Excuses," she cut him off. She dropped the paper onto the desk. "In Russia, we do not make excuses, Kai. We make results. Do you know what this score tells me?"
She stood up.
The movement was fluid and graceful. She walked around the desk, her heels clicking on the floorboards. She was tall, imposing, and overwhelmingly beautiful close up. She leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms, looking down at him.
"It tells me that you are distracted," she purred, her voice dropping an octave. "It tells me that while I am teaching the complexities of the human anatomy, your mind is... elsewhere."
She reached out, her manicured fingers brushing the collar of his blazer. The touch was electric. Kai stopped breathing.
"You are going to fail the National Exam at this rate," she said, her tone shifting from mockery to a cold seriousness. "And that reflects poorly on me. I do not tolerate failure, Kai. Especially not from a student who has so much... potential energy."
She turned, walking over to the window, staring out at the white fog swallowing the school grounds.
"I have spoken to the Principal," she said, her back to him. "Your parents pay a lot of fees for this institution. They expect excellence. Since you clearly cannot focus in a classroom full of distractions, we will change the environment."
Kai blinked. "Ma'am?"
She turned back to him, a small, dangerous smile playing on her lips.
"You need remedial tuition. Intensive. Personal." She checked her wristwatch-a sleek, silver timepiece that caught the light. "You will come to my residence this evening. 7:00 PM sharp. Bring your textbooks. Leave the excuses at the door."
Kai's heart hammered against his ribs. Her residence? No student went to the teachers' private quarters. It was unheard of.
"My... my house?" he repeated, dumbfounded.
" My house," she corrected, stepping closer again until her perfume filled his head, dizzying and sweet. "Bungalow 4, on the faculty lane. And Kai?"
She leaned in, her blue eyes narrowing.
"Do not be late. I can be very... severe... with students who waste my time."
The evening air in Delhi had turned bitter, the kind of cold that bit through fabric and settled into the marrow. By 7:00 PM, the faculty lane was shrouded in a dense, ghostly fog. The streetlights were merely glowing orange hazes floating in the mist, illuminating nothing but the swirling vapor.
Kai walked his bicycle down the silent lane, his breath puffing out in white clouds. His hands, gripping the freezing metal handlebars, were numb, but his chest felt like a furnace. Every step toward Bungalow 4 felt like walking off a cliff.
Faculty housing was forbidden territory. It was where the teachers ceased to be instructors and became people with private lives-lives students were never meant to see.
Bungalow 4 stood at the end of the lane, darker and more imposing than the rest. A single light burned on the porch, casting long shadows across the overgrown bougainvillea that climbed the walls.
Kai parked his cycle against the rusted iron gate. He checked his watch. 6:59 PM.
He took a moment to smooth down his hair in the reflection of a dark window. He had changed out of his uniform into jeans and a thick hoodie, trying to look casual, but he felt anything but. He gripped his biology textbook so hard his knuckles turned white.
Just a tuition, he told himself. Just a punishment for bad marks.
But his body knew better. His body remembered the way she had looked at him in the cabin.
He walked up the short path and pressed the doorbell. It rang deep inside the house, a heavy, melodious chime that seemed to echo for too long.
Silence followed.
Kai shifted his weight, the cold seeping through his sneakers. Ten seconds. Twenty. Had she forgotten? Was this another test?
Then, the sound of a lock tumbling.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, not fully, but just enough. A rush of warm, scented air-lavender, room heater coils, and that signature vanilla perfume-washed over him, thawing his frozen face instantly.
"You are punctual," a voice purred. "I like that."
The door swung wide, and Kai's breath vanished.
Ms. Anastasia stood framed in the golden light of the hallway. The strict, buttoned-up teacher from the classroom was gone. In her place was a woman who seemed to be made of soft light and dangerous curves.
She was wearing a silk dress that could barely be called a dress. It was a deep, shimmering crimson, the colour of oxygenated blood. The fabric was thin, liquid against her skin, clinging to her hips and thighs with unforgiving clarity.
But it was the neckline that paralyzed him.
It was a plunging cowl neck, draped so low that it exposed the creamy, untanned skin of her chest almost to her sternum. Her heavy breasts were pushed up and together, looking as if they were fighting to escape the confines of the silk with every breath she took. There was no structure, no bra straps visible-just the raw, heavy weight of her curves pressing against the delicate fabric.
"Well?" she asked, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms under her chest, which only made her cleavage spill out more aggressively, the pale flesh stark against the red silk. "Are you going to stand in the freezing fog all night, Kai? Or are you coming in to learn?"
Kai's mouth was dry. He couldn't look her in the eyes. If he looked up, he would be terrified. If he looked down... he would be caught.
"I... sorry, Ma'am," he choked out, stepping over the threshold.
"Anastasia," she corrected softly as she closed the door behind him, sealing out the cold world. "In this house, outside of school hours... you may call me Anastasia."
The click of the lock engaging sounded like the door of a cage sliding shut.
She turned and walked down the hallway, her hips swaying with a hypnotic, languid rhythm that the loose silk accentuated rather than hid.
"Take off your shoes," she called over her shoulder. "And your coat. It is warm in here."
Kai kicked off his sneakers and peeled off his hoodie, leaving him in just a thin t-shirt. The house was stiflingly warm. The living room was dim, lit only by a few floor lamps and the glow of a large electric fireplace. The furniture was plush, expensive leather-very un-Indian, very modern.
Anastasia was already seated on a low, velvet sofa. She crossed her legs, the silk dress riding up high on her thigh, exposing a long expanse of smooth, toned leg. She patted the empty cushion right next to her. Not across the table. Next to her.
"Sit," she commanded, her voice low and husky. "Open your book to the Chapter on hormonal control. Let us see if we can stimulate your... intellect."
The velvet sofa was soft, swallowing Kai as he sat down, but the air around him felt brittle, ready to snap at the slightest movement.
Anastasia sat entirely too close.
She didn't sit like a teacher. She sat like a predator at rest. She had tucked one leg beneath her, her knee brushing against Kai's thigh. The heat radiating from her bare skin burned through the denim of his jeans.
"Open to page 142," she commanded, her voice vibrating in the quiet room. "The Endocrine System."
Kai fumbled with the textbook, his fingers clumsy. He found the page, smoothing it down. A diagram of the human brain and its glands stared back at him-clinical, dry, safe.
"Now," Anastasia said, shifting her weight. The leather of the sofa creaked in protest. "Tell me about the Pituitary gland. What triggers it?"
Kai cleared his throat, staring aggressively at the paper. "It... it is the master gland. It secretes hormones that stimulate other glands."
"Show me," she whispered. "Show me where the signal begins."
She leaned in.
It was a slow, deliberate movement. She reached across him to point at the diagram with her manicured finger, but as she leaned forward, gravity took hold of the loose, crimson silk of her dress.
The cowl neckline fell away from her chest.
Kai's breath hitched, caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. He tried to keep his eyes on the textbook, he really did, but human instinct was a powerful thing. His gaze flickered up, just for a fraction of a second, and then he was trapped.
From this angle, he could see everything.
The dress gaped open, revealing the deep, shadowed valley between her breasts. They were heavy and full, pressing against each other, the pale skin flushed slightly pink from the warmth of the room. He could see the intricate, sheer lace of a black bra that was struggling to contain them, the dark fabric a stark, erotic contrast to her creamy skin and the red silk.
He could see the soft rise and fall of her chest with every breath she took. He could smell the warm scent of vanilla rising from the hollow of her throat.
Time seemed to warp. The diagram on the table became a blur. The only thing in focus was the dangerous, forbidden landscape of his teacher's body, hovering inches from his face.
He knew he should look away. He knew this was wrong. But he couldn't. He was paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming reality of her.
"Kai?"
Her voice cut through the haze. It wasn't angry. It was amused.
She hadn't moved back. She was still leaning over him, still exposing herself, but her head had turned. She was looking right at him, watching his eyes trace the curve of her cleavage.
She knew.
Kai's blood went cold, then hot. He jerked his head back to the book, his face burning. "I... uh... the hypothalamus... it..."
"Stop," she said softly.
She didn't fix her dress. She didn't pull back. Instead, she leaned in closer, until her shoulder brushed his chest. The scent of her perfume was overpowering now.
"You are not looking at the hypothalamus, Kai," she murmured, her voice like velvet wrapped around a blade. "Your eyes are dilating. Your breathing has accelerated. Your skin is flushing."
She tapped the textbook, but her eyes were locked on his.
"Biology is the study of life, of reactions," she purred. "Tell me... what is the stimulus causing this reaction in you right now?"
She waited, holding his gaze, the dress still hanging open, daring him to lie. The silence in the room was heavy, charged with a tension that felt like a physical weight.
" Is it the diagram?" she asked, a cruel, teasing glint in her blue eyes. "Or is it something else?"