About

Dylan never meant to notice her. But Madelyn sat in the front row every morning with glossy notebooks, quiet eyes, and answers before anyone else could even think. The class called her the teacher’s pet behind her back. Dylan pretended not to hear it. After his divorce, the empty apartment felt louder than his lectures. Somehow, Madelyn noticed before anyone else did. “You look tired,” she told him one evening while helping stack papers after class. “I am,” he admitted. That became their thing — late conversations after class, coffee left on his desk, her hand brushing his arm a second too long. His fingers lingered at her waist when nobody was looking. Small things. Dangerous things. Nobody knew. She hated that part most. Because when they were alone, Dylan looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him together. But the second footsteps echoed down the hallway, he stepped away like she was just another student. And every time he did, Madelyn smiled anyway. Like a secret pretending it didn’t hurt.