October 5th
It was 8 o'clock in the morning, and Samara had been relentlessly tapping her pencil against her desk for the past hour. She stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her, trying to start her notes.
That had been over four hours ago.
A combination of her wandering mind and distractions from her phone had cost her the precious time she needed to study for an important test.
Although she had been well-prepared for the exam, relying only on her memory.
In a few hours, she would walk into class, take her seat, raise her hand to mark her attendance, then sink back into her chair and take notes that would never be revisited. The funny thing about law school was that success often came down to memorizing vast amounts of information and applying it to real-life situations.
But for Samara, it was almost too easy.
She had an incredible memory; she was just naturally smart. Note-taking was never her strength, and most of the time, she forced herself to take them to look like she was putting in effort. In reality, she just wasn't motivated. The days seemed to blur together, and everything felt monotonous. She had big dreams, goals, and ambitions, but they typically felt out of reach because of her age and financial situation.
She glanced around the cramped dorm room, the space she had reluctantly come to call home.
"Damn, I really need to clean this place," Samara muttered, scratching her head before leaning forward to pull open the blinds. The door creaked open, and a delicious smell wafted through the air.
Her head snapped around as her roommate, Tazara Mac, a fellow law student, entered, holding a plate of breakfast from the dining hall.
"So, did you get anything good, or did the football team eat everything again?" Samara asked, raising an eyebrow. Tazara placed the plate on the elevated bed, holding two forks.
"Yeah, they ate everything again. The staff was pissed when they saw the team in line. They let everyone who'd been waiting an hour or more cut in line because the team was about to take all the good stuff. Tazara skewered a sausage with her fork and took a bite.
Samara grabbed her own fork and dug into a piece of dry ham.
She grimaced and covered her mouth as she tried to respond.
"Well, no surprise there. Those guys eat everything-morning, noon, and night. When is their season over?" She laughed as she poked at her food.
"Hopefully tonight. They're playing Morgan State at seven," Tazara said, raising an eyebrow and pointing her fork at Samara. Samara rolled her eyes in response, knowing Tazara was right.
They ate in silence, a familiar tradition when they managed to get something from the dining hall. Samara gazed out the window at the bustling quad. She saw some familiar faces-some she liked, others not so much. There were a few people she knew weren't graduating, one who wasn't even enrolled in anything, and a few she wouldn't mind running over with her car.
But she wouldn't.
She couldn't.
And as an out-of-state student with a car, she wasn't about to lose it over something so ridiculous. In a few years, none of this would matter.
Then, Samara noticed a group of people lingering by the dorm, their attention fixed on something, glancing between it and a small piece of paper. Curiosity piqued, she chewed her food and leaned closer to the window, squinting to adjust to the bright light.
"What's going on?" Tazara asked, trying to peer around Samara.
Samara didn't answer, only shrugged as she tried to focus on a figure below them. The person looked familiar.
It was her professor.
Professor Harris.
Professor Harris stood beneath the dorm, staring up at the building. What was she looking at?
Samara continued to watch, noticing how her professor's head darted between windows, growing increasingly irritated. Hesitantly, Samara waved, wondering if Professor Harris could see her. To her surprise, she did.
The professor's stern expression shifted. Her eyes lit up, and a smile spread across her face, revealing deep black circles under her eyes. Samara found it strange. Despite her past as a criminal prosecutor, the smile seemed almost pure. Tazara joined Samara at the window and waved, but Professor Harris didn't seem to notice her.
"Is the lecture hall on the other side of campus?" Tazara whispered as if Professor Harris could hear them from below.
"Yeah, why?"
"So, did our professor walk all the way over here just to wave at us?" Tazara asked as Professor Harris walked away, blending into the crowd.
"I don't know... maybe? Who cares, as long as she doesn't assign more work before I finish studying!" Samara said, snapping back to reality. She turned and marched back to her desk, grabbed a fresh pencil, and slumped into her chair, hoping inspiration would strike.
She had barely written a few words when Tazara approached, intrigued by her progress.
"... The..." Tazara said, deadpan.
"Yeah, yeah, studying. Get up, we both know neither of us is getting any studying done today. We need to go out, eat, drink, do something. I can't focus on this test anymore," Samara grumbled, grabbing the pen from her hand.
"Tazara, no. Class is at noon, and we can't do anything fun because everything fun is two hours away. With DC traffic, we'd never get back in time," Samara said firmly, shutting her down.
"Party pooper!" Tazara exclaimed, stomping to her bed, frowning as she collapsed onto the plush mattress.
"Well, if your bed falls off the stilts, I'm not helping you pick it up," Samara retorted, grabbing another pen and pulling her study materials closer.
She was determined to get something down, even if it was something she already knew.
Later That Day
"Good afternoon, everyone. I hope you all had a wonderful day, but unfortunately, our least favorite time has arrived: the test. I have to grade them as soon as possible but your class has performed better than my previous ones, so I'm sure you'll all do well" Professor Harris said as she walked around, watching the students write their names on their papers.
She wouldn't be standing for long; she didn't care if anyone cheated. Honestly, she'd rather cheat herself than grade papers filled with nonsense.
As she passed Samara's desk, she noticed that Samara had already completed the first page. Stopping for a moment, she glanced at the answers Samara had bubbled in.
"A... C... A.... E?... A.... Damn," she thought. Samara had gotten them all right.
Professor Harris smirked and hummed a satisfied tune as she moved along, eventually returning to her desk and sitting down.
But just as she settled in, there they were again.
Tazara and Samara, papers in hand, grins on their faces, eyes low, red.
A faint smell drifted toward Kamala as she took their papers with a nod before they left. They giggled all the way to the door and out.
"I wonder what she's like when she's high?," she sighed, glancing back at the classroom.
Her fingers wrapped around a pen, preparing to mark a wrong answer.
She'd grown fond of Samara's mistakes, she rarely made them, yet when they were there she made sure to make it expressly clear. But it seemed her games had pushed Samara to better, as they decreasingly became needed. Tazara was like that too, she just didn't intrigue her like Samara did though...
She studied both papers side by side, identical answers, perfect scores. She looked up, scanning the classroom. The clock ticked steadily, and barely anyone raised their hands to answer the questions. A thick silence filled the room.
"Tazara and Samara," Kamala mused, noticing their seats across from each other. There was no evidence of cheating. Even if they had, what difference would it make? What would she gain by making an issue of it?
She wrote their 100s in red, flipped their papers, and leaned back in her chair. She half-expected another bold pair of students to appear, confident they had done enough to pass.
But no one moved.
Samara and Tazara stumbled down the hallway, their steps uneven and uncoordinated. The buzz of the weed clouded their minds, making the floor feel as if it were shifting beneath them. Samara's head lolled back, eyes heavy and bloodshot, yet she couldn't stop smiling.
"You know... you were right," Samara muttered, almost to herself. "I didn't think it'd be this... this good."
Tazara, clearly in her own haze, waved her hand in front of Samara's face.
"Girl, I told you we'd be fine! I told you that getting high was the best way to survive this madness!" Her voice was a little too loud, bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hall, making her giggle uncontrollably.
Samara's head jerked as she nearly tipped over, her eyes wide for a moment before she steadied herself. She reached out and braced herself against the nearby pillar. "Shit, girl, you weren't going to say anything? You let me stumble like that?"
Her shoulder throbbed where it had collided with the pillar. She rubbed it absently, glancing over to find Tazara beside her-but she wasn't there.
"Wait-what?" Samara blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but her eyes refused to cooperate. "Where the hell did you go?"
She turned in circles, her hand instinctively reaching out, as if preparing for something to jump out at her. Her heart started pounding, and she took a step back, her breath shallow. Her gaze darted down the hallway, then back to the walls, as if expecting something to appear.
Tazara's voice rang out from somewhere behind her, and Samara jumped, spinning on her heel.
"Girl, I'm on the floor! I either was gonna fall, or I was going to get down on my own terms. I chose the former. Now help my fat ass up!" Tazara's voice carried with a groan, and Samara hurried to her, still half-dazed.
She leaned down to help, looking down at Tazara, who had apparently decided to collapse right where she stood. Tazara stretched one arm lazily in Samara's direction, but her other hand rested on her stomach. "Are you good?" Samara asked, eyes squinting as she crouched next to her.
Tazara rolled her eyes dramatically, smirking. "Yeah, just help me up, then let's get to the dining hall. I swear, I need food, stat."
Samara let out a tired laugh, helping Tazara get to her feet. The two of them stumbled towards the dining hall, leaning against the walls for support as they laughed at their own clumsy state.
By the time they reached the door, they barely had the energy to push it open. Samara collapsed into one of the chairs, still grinning stupidly, and Tazara collapsed beside her. They ordered food, and after grabbing their plates, they turned to head back to their dorm.
The walk back was slower this time, each step feeling heavier than the last, but they finally made it back to their room. Tazara dropped her plate onto the desk and flopped onto her bed with a sigh. Samara followed suit, sitting down beside her and immediately tearing into her food.
After a few bites, Samara set her plate aside and pulled out the blunt they'd been saving. "Well, we made it back. Guess we can finish this," she said, a smile spreading across her face.
Tazara, who was halfway through chewing a mouthful of food, nodded enthusiastically. "Hell yeah!"
They both moved to the window, opening it wide to let the cool air rush in. The sounds of the campus outside were muffled by the thick walls of the dorm, but the fresh breeze was a welcome change to the stuffiness of the room. Samara lit the blunt, taking a long drag and passing it to Tazara.
The two of them leaned against the window, heads hanging out, as they smoked and enjoyed the view of the quad below. The high kicked in further, and their laughter echoed through the room as they let the smoke curl up into the open air.
"This is way better than whatever we were supposed to be doing today," Samara said, her voice light and dreamy.
Tazara took another hit and nodded. "Honestly, we should do this more often."
They finished the blunt in silence, both too relaxed to say much more. The only sounds were the distant chatter of students and the occasional rustling of leaves outside. The calm, contentment of the moment was enough.
Later, at Kamala's Home
Kamala sat in her study, the crackling warmth of the fireplace casting soft light across the room. Her desk faced the fire, and she was surrounded by shelves of books and her own personal accomplishments-degrees, awards, framed photographs. The rich mahogany wood of the shelves and desk stood in stark contrast to the modern world outside. Two armchairs faced the fire, and two more faced her desk, providing a sense of control in the space she had so carefully curated. In the corner, an alcohol cabinet stood proudly, the glass reflecting the flames from the fire.
Kamala was grading papers, the rhythmic motion of her pen marking answers in red as she scanned each test.
Yet, despite her focus, her mind kept drifting.
It wasn't to the students' work, but to Samara.
She opened her phone to the school's sports page, and she found Samara's pictures there. She could help but glance at Samara's softball picture. The photo was old, last season so not too old, she didn't look much different besides bigger...
She shook her head, smiling as she noticed herself focusing in. Kamala still found herself drawn to it-studying Samara's confident smile, the way she held the bat, the determination in her eyes
There was something magnetic about Samara, something that had started to consume her thoughts in recent weeks.
Kamala ran her finger over the smooth surface of the screen, caressing it gently as she scrolled through Samara's other linked socials. It wasn't just the academic side of Samara that intrigued her-it was everything beyond that. The way Samara carried herself, her effortless charm, and the quiet intensity that seemed to linger beneath the surface.
"God..." Kamala muttered to herself, leaning back in her chair. "What is it about her?"
Her eyes flicked to Samara's test papers, perfect answers filled in with precision, the same answers Tazara had written. Kamala smiled faintly, a small sense of pride filling her chest. The answers were identical, and yet it didn't matter. Samara's mind was sharp-she could see it in every test, every interaction. But it wasn't just about the academic side of Samara. It was the allure of her. The way she made Kamala feel.
Her fingers tightened around the pen, tapping it against the desk as she lost herself in thoughts of Samara. The idea of getting to know her better, beyond the student-teacher dynamic, lingered on the edge of her mind.
Kamala was obsessive, drawn to Samara like a moth to a flame. She had never felt this way about a student before-never so compelled to know them in a way that went far beyond the classroom.
She paused and took a long, slow breath, her thoughts tumbling over each other. The fire crackled in the background, but the warmth didn't compare to the heat rising in her chest.
Would Samara ever notice her?
Kamala's mind raced as she pictured the two of them, maybe even sharing something more.
What would it be like to hold Samara close, to see that confident smile directed at her, just her?
Could it ever be more than just a passing thought?
Her fingers brushed against the screen again, lingering on Samara's photograph. "Possibly I could have her,"
No, she would have her.
November 23rd
Samara meandered through the campus as it sat almost eerily quiet. It was a few hours till noon, when the campus would officially shut down, and only a few students lingered, either finishing up last-minute assignments or trying to catch up before the long holiday shutdown. Samara walked slowly, her sneakers making little sound on the empty, damp pavement.
The campus, usually bustling with voices and energy, had transformed into a half-forgotten space, with most students heading home for the break.
Samara, however, wasn't traveling home-her family didn't keep in touch. She was from Baltimore, a little too far for a quick holiday visit, to which she'd known she'd hate.
Tazara had already left for North Carolina.
It was just her, the silence, and the campus.
She wasn't used to being alone like this. But she didn't mind it, not really. It gave her time to think. Time to breathe.
She was a top-notch student, after all, rarely late, always punctual, always prepared.
It was unusual for her to walk in after the class had already started, but she had been caught up in something-a momentary lapse in her usually regimented schedule. Samara didn't like to be late, but this time it felt different, like it was alright.
As she made her way toward the classroom, she spotted only a handful of students in the distance, most of them having entered classes and walked right back out. A small pang of loneliness flickered in her chest, but it was gone as soon as she reached the door to the classroom. She pushed it open. Inside, the room was half-empty, the desks scattered in quiet disarray. The professor sat at her desk, grading papers, her glasses perched low on her nose, eyes scanning each test with practiced concentration.
Professor Harris looked up as Samara entered, offering a smile that Samara couldn't help but notice was just a little too wide.
"Running a little late today, aren't we?" Kamala teased lightly, her voice smooth and warm.
Her gaze lingered on Samara just a beat too long, and for a moment, it felt as though the room had closed in around them, making the space feel suddenly smaller, more intimate.
Samara bit back a smile, not quite meeting her professor's eyes as she slipped into her usual seat at the back of the room. She set her bag down with a soft thud, taking out her laptop. The sound of the furnace in the corner of the room seemed louder now that the room was so empty, the atmosphere shifting into something softer, more private.
Kamala continued to watch her, still grading papers, but now with an obvious undercurrent of curiosity in her gaze.
"I hope you're not rushing through my work because of the break," Kamala added, voice teasing as she set the last paper aside, letting her hands rest on her desk. She pulled off her jacket slowly, a deliberate movement that Samara couldn't help but notice, before leaning back slightly in her chair.
Samara glanced up, her fingers hovering over her laptop's keys as she checked for any updates or assignments. Nothing. She stared at the screen for a moment, feeling the odd tension of the room, before slowly looking up at Kamala, who was now focused entirely on her. She had to talk to her.
She didn't answer.
"So... you're not going home for the break?" Kamala asked, her tone casual, but the way she leaned forward just a little, it wasn't as innocent as it seemed.
Samara hesitated before answering. "No," she said slowly, shrugging slightly. "My family's back in Baltimore, but I didn't feel like traveling this year, or any year. So I'll just be staying here for the break."
Kamala nodded, her eyes gleaming with interest. "I see," she murmured, taking a moment before continuing.
"That's a shame. You could have used the time with your family, I'd imagine."
"They aren't the family worth going home on the holidays for." you reply
Her voice softened as she asked, "What about friends? Are you spending time with anyone special?"
The question caught Samara off guard. Her mind raced. "I mean... I'll probably just be around, doing my own thing, My friend Tazara left yesterday..." she said with a slight frown, not quite sure how to answer.
She wasn't saying she'd be all alone, it was her first year being away from home, and yet that talk about feeling homesick had not settled in. But as time passed, Samara found the desire for that experience fading. There was a part of her that didn't want to indulge Kamala's curiosity, but the professor's interest seemed so genuine, that Samara found herself talking. She wasn't sure why.
They had never spoken about anything outside of her classwork.
Kamala's eyes stayed locked on her, a steady, watchful gaze that made Samara feel slightly off-kilter. "I'm sure there's someone, right? you're smart, young..." Kamala's words were careful, but Samara couldn't shake the feeling that Kamala was fishing for something.
Samara paused for a beat, not sure how much she should reveal. "No," she replied, a little evasive now.
Kamala smiled, her lips curving in a way that was just shy of too eager. "It must be nice to have such a person. Someone for you. It must be... peaceful." She let the last word linger on her tongue, almost as if tasting it.
Samara shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of how much Kamala seemed to be studying her. It wasn't just idle curiosity anymore. There was something intentional in the way Kamala was asking these questions, watching her so intently.
Kamala noticed Samara's slight discomfort but didn't back off. Instead, her voice lowered, almost conspiratorially.
"You're not one to get caught up in the holiday rush, I take it. You seem... calm, collected. Always ahead of the game." She laughed lightly, teasing, but Samara could feel the undercurrent.
"Unlike some of us, right? I'm sure I'll be buried in grading all day." she laughed
Samara smirked, feeling the first hint of a playful challenge. "I guess you'll have to catch up, then," she replied
"You're the one who was grading papers while the rest of us get to relax, after all."
Kamala chuckled, but her gaze softened as she tilted her head.
"Oh, I don't mind. I actually enjoy seeing how well you all do. All, such a dedicated student." She paused, leaning forward just a little more.
"But you, Samara," she said, voice low, "are exceptional. I'd say you're going to be a huge success, no matter where you go." she said as her tongue rested on the edge of teeth as she smiled at you. Her brown eyes seemed to consume everything else, it gave her a devilish look.
Something was throbbing by this point, and Samara knew well enough what it was. Was her professor really turning her on right now, was it the situation?
'Naw, she always been fine as hell' you reassured yourself in your head as you looked at her again
This time, she can't see her eyes.
The compliment hit Samara differently than she expected. It wasn't just about her work or her grades-it felt personal, like Kamala was speaking to her, not just as a student.
Samara smiled faintly, trying to keep her composure. "Thank you. I appreciate that. But I'm not doing anything special," she said, though a part of her was flattered.
Kamala leaned back, still watching her. "I think you're selling yourself short. You're one of the brightest students here. You're clearly not one to miss a beat. Perfect scores yet again on my tests, some other professor suggests you're cheating, but considering you waltz in here with only a laptop in an Aldi's reusable bag, I think it's safe to assure you don't have many tricks up those sleeves."
Samara's pulse quickened slightly under Kamala's intense gaze. She felt like she was being weighed, measured, examined-every word, every movement scrutinized.
"I try my best," she said, her voice almost shy now.
Kamala's smile widened a little, the expression something between teasing and appreciative. "Of course, of course. But you must have more going on behind the scenes. Do you ever take a break, Samara? You have to study for hours on end, right?"
The question caught her off guard, and Samara's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not really," she replied slowly. "I guess I'm too focused on... everything else."
Kamala nodded, her gaze flicking to the papers on her desk. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, as though considering something. Then, with a soft sigh, she removed her glasses, setting them down and leaning forward, folding her arms on the desk.
"Well," Kamala said, her voice turning more conversational, almost flirtatious, "no matter the circumstances, do deserve a break. But maybe not quite yet. You've still got a little time before the break officially starts, right?"
Samara raised an eyebrow at her, sensing that Kamala wasn't just talking about the holiday anymore.
"I guess I do," Samara replied, her voice slightly more playful now.
Kamala smiled again, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "Good. Because I think you'll find that the best things happen when you least expect them. And you might just find yourself somewhere unexpected... if you're willing to take a chance."
Samara wasn't sure if Kamala was speaking about the break, her future, or something far more complicated, but Samara didn't seem to hate the idea. She couldn't tell if Kamala was simply being friendly or if something else was lurking beneath in her mind that was testing simple words into so much more.
Samara furrowed her brow, looking up at her professor with confusion. "On what?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with curiosity.
Her professor smiled knowingly, the corners of her lips lifting slightly, as if she was already privy to some secret.
"Let's put you on track to graduate early, hmm? How does that sound? After your regular classes, when there's time in your schedule, we can have our own one-on-one sessions. We'll work on future lessons, get ahead of things. In class, you'll handle the current material, but with little extra knowledge... Just think about it."
Her words were smooth, calculated. There was something underlying in her tone, something that hinted at more than just academic intentions. It felt like an offer, a deal, but Samara couldn't quite pin down what it was. A suggestion? A proposition? She could barely formulate a response. Her mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts, too many of them tangled and strange-thoughts that were gayer than ones she had before.
Thoughts that made her heart beat a little faster.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, her gaze followed the professor as she turned away, seemingly unfazed by the lack of response. The woman grabbed a pen from her desk, holding it casually as she jotted something down. Then, without warning, she stood up, a slow, deliberate motion that caught Samara's attention.
She looked soft.
The professor walked toward her with the kind of grace that made the room feel as if it had slowed down. She moved like she was on a catwalk, her hips swaying with every step, her long hair bouncing softly as it cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyelids were lowered just enough to give off an air of mystery, and her posture was confident, almost daring Samara to look away.
Her voice was soft and velvety, like a whisper that seemed to wrap itself around Samara's thoughts.
"Class ends in two minutes. I'd imagine you'll need time to think it over." Her words were slow, teasing, leaving an unspoken invitation hanging in the air between them.
"Take all the time you need... text me when you've decided."
Samara's breath caught in her throat, her eyes following the professor's every move as she sauntered closer. The professor's button-up shirt, perfectly tailored, was open just enough to reveal the soft curve of her cleavage-dangerously close to Samara's face.
Their gazes locked for a heartbeat, and the world seemed to tilt. For a split second, Samara thought she saw a flicker of something in those eyes-something that sent a shiver up her spine.
With a slow, deliberate movement, the professor leaned down just enough to place a folded post-it note into Samara's hand, her fingers brushing ever so lightly against Samara's skin. "Here," the professor said, her voice lowering to an even more intimate tone. "In case you need it." She smiled, a small, knowing smile, before straightening and turning away with that same captivating, almost predatory grace.
Samara watched, frozen, as the professor walked back to her desk, packing up her things in an almost casual manner. As she left the room, Samara stayed in her seat, her fingers gripping the folded note tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. The classroom felt eerily quiet now, as if the energy had shifted, and Samara was left alone with her thoughts-and with the professor's lingering presence that seemed to haunt the space even after she'd left.
Her mind raced, unsure of what to do next, but one thing was clear-she couldn't stop thinking about her professor.
She didn't care about the offer.
She cared about what she was really offering.