"Hunger, Unnamed"
The Student:
I saw her today in the library.
Not in class.
Not where the rules breathe.
But in the silence between bookshelves,
where everything felt more
dangerous.
She didn't see me
or maybe she did.
Maybe she always does.
But I watched her from behind the shelves,
half-hiding behind poetry,
half-praying she'd walk past
and half-praying she wouldn't.
She read slowly,
fingers trailing the spines like she was choosing lovers.
I stood still,
as still as I could,
because I didn't trust my body not to reach.
There's a pull to her
not magnetic.
More like gravity,
but worse,
because I want to fall.
Because I enjoy falling.
And when she turned her head,
when her gaze drifted like smoke
and landed near where I stood,
I swear my pulse shattered.
Not from fear.
From desire.
From the thrill of being caught
while not doing anything wrong
but still thinking about it.
What would she do
if she found me staring?
What would she say
if she saw the way I dream of her mouth
soft, sure,
somewhere between an answer and a punishment?
It's not just how she looks.
It's how she stands.
It's how she speaks.
It's the way every inch of her presence
feels like a secret
you'd ruin yourself to be told.
I'm not in love.
Not yet.
But I can feel it,
how it stirs in my belly,
warm and wicked,
like it's just waiting for the day
I stop pretending I don't want her.
The day I stop looking away.