Moonlit Fae

y resolve was quickly tested as our eyes met, and I felt my cheeks flush with a warmth that rivalled

teacher's arrival, I sensed his eyes still fixed on me. His frustration was discernible, his hands gripping the

uge from the intensity of his stare. Just as the tension seemed unbearable, th

e, class. Today, we embark on a creative journ

hniques and mediums that would help us hone our skills in drawing, painting, and sculpture. However, my attention was constantly diverted by the intense gaze of Bell

reoccupied with the enigmatic presence beside me. The tension was evident, and I cou

ture from the classroom. He rose from his seat with a swiftness that caught everyone off guard, his movements fluid and graceful as he hastened out of the room without

ons that had just unfolded, my eyes fixed on the empty seat beside me, wo

e with a curious gaze fixed on the door Bellion had just exited

ldn't help but wonder if Bellion's aversion to me was so strong that he couldn't even bear t

oin us for a game of volleyball? It'll be a great way to lift your spi

xactly athletic, Austin. Volleyball isn't my

nt teacher! You're in good hands, I promise." His assuranc

s enigmatic behavior. "Alright, sure," I agreed, and Aus

irls was already underway, and I hastened to change into my P.E attire, courtesy of Ms. Clare's office

several players, including my own teammates. They began to avoid me like the plague wh

but instead, it struck him squarely in the face, leaving him with a black eye. I apologized profusely, my face burning with

to flee the scene of my athletic catastrophe. My face still burned with shame, and I couldn't help

nt of impending rain. I scanned the parking lot, relieved to see that most students drove modest vehicles, except for one sleek BMW that seemed to gleam in the faint, cloudy light. My gaze drifted to its owner, the Ike

clattered to the ground, adding to my frustration. I snatched them up, my annoyance growing with each passing moment. The wind picked up, rustling my hair, and I could smell the rain approaching. I jammed the key into the ignition,

- a sure sign he was home. I hastily opened the car door and dashed towards the house, seeking refuge from the dow

! How was your first day at school?" I forced a bright smile, hiding the turmoil with

ered the kitchen, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. The worn wooden countertops, the vintage ceramic tile

recipe. The aroma of breading and frying filled the air as I expertly breaded the chicken cutlets, the crispy texture a testament to my practiced hands. The sizzle o

inside. The kitchen, with its worn familiarity, became my haven, a place where I could momenta

talized my dad's taste buds, leaving him eagerly anticipating the first bite. I presented the

s expression a testament to the dish's excellence. "Mmm, this is incredible!" he exclaimed, "It tastes just like your mo

nsils and the occasional satisfied hum from my dad. After the meal, I cleared the tabl

er what the next day would bring. Would it be a repeat of today's mishaps or a fresh start? I closed my eyes, hop