chapter 1

Monday had always been my least favorite day. If I had the power, I would’ve erased it from the calendar entirely.

I sighed as I stepped onto the morning bus, already bracing myself for another long week. And then I saw him.

Jay.

Or should I say, the boy I wasn’t supposed to like — the boy who had once told me he was in a “situationship.”

“Morning, Lena.”

His bright smile flashed across his face, warm and effortless.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Am I stupid? I wondered. Falling for someone who already belongs—at least partly—to someone else?

“Morning…” I replied, hoping my voice didn’t betray me.

I still remembered the first day he arrived at college. He had been quiet, almost painfully shy. As class president, I was the one he texted to ask about schedules, professors, classmates. Somewhere between helping him find classrooms and sending him notes, I found myself smiling at my phone more than I should have.

Maybe it was love at first sight.

Maybe it was just foolishness.

Either way, I had fallen.

By afternoon, something felt off. Jay wasn’t himself. His usual playful spark was gone, replaced by a silence that clung to him like a shadow. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but after my failed confession months ago, I didn’t know where I stood.

Back then, I had half-joked that I liked him. Half-joked — because if he rejected me, I could pretend I hadn’t meant it. But he had gently turned me down, explaining he was already involved with someone.

He hadn’t embarrassed me. He hadn’t told anyone. He had been kind.

Still, the rejection lingered like a bruise.

Later that day, I overheard the truth. The girl he’d been seeing was now with someone else. She had left him.

And suddenly, his sadness made sense.

I didn’t comfort him. I didn’t know how.

“Lena?”

I froze. He was standing right behind me.

“Yes?” I turned, trying to steady my heartbeat.

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair — a nervous habit of his.

“Will you… teach me how to kiss?”

For a moment, I thought I misheard him.

“What?”

He gave a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You once said you were a pro kisser.”

Oh no.

Months ago, in a bold attempt to flirt, I had said that. I wasn’t a pro at anything. I was just a girl hopelessly crushing on him.

“I just…” His voice softened. “I thought maybe it would help. I feel stupid, Lena. Like I wasn’t enough.”

My chest tightened. This wasn’t about desire. It was about pain.

And yet… this was my greatest temptation.

I nodded before my brain could argue. “Don’t blame me afterward,” I said lightly, though my heart was racing.

We slipped into an empty classroom. The air felt still, almost charged. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across the floor.

For a second, we just stood there.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered — though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

For liking him?

For wanting this?

For knowing it might hurt me later?

I reached up, my fingers lightly touching the back of his neck. His breath brushed against my face, warm and unsteady. My eyes fluttered closed as I leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull away.

He didn’t.

Our lips met softly at first — uncertain, gentle. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I was about to step back when his hand found my waist, steadying me. The kiss deepened — not rushed, not wild — but filled with something raw and searching.

He wasn’t just kissing me.

He was trying to forget someone else.

And I wasn’t just teaching him.

I was giving him a piece of myself.

When we finally pulled apart, the world felt quieter. His forehead rested lightly against mine, both of us breathing harder than before.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

But I didn’t know whether to feel victorious… or terrified.

Because somewhere between that first soft touch and the way his fingers tightened at my waist—

Monday didn’t feel so cruel anymore.

And that scared me the most.

If you want, I can continue the story — maybe with emotional consequences, jealousy, slow-burn romance, or a love triangle twist.

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