Introduction
Fahmeen conheceu Rolf pela primeira vez em um teatro, no entanto, no dia seguinte, eles se encontram novamente no ensino médio - um como aluna e o outro como seu professor! Eles lutam para resistir ao crescente desejo um pelo outro, e a sala de aula desempenha um grande papel em se revelarem um ao outro como nunca antes. Fahmeen precisa manter seus sentimentos em segredo daqueles que mais ama. Sua melhor amiga permanece sem suspeitas, assim como sua mãe, enquanto o Professor Rolf sugere aulas particulares na casa de Fahmeen. Inseguranças e seus demônios agem como obstáculos ao longo de sua jornada no ensino médio e neste romance proibido, agora florescente.
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thewritingstark
Chapter 1
Fahmeen estava sentada lá, as luzes azuis acima de sua cabeça. Colegas ao seu lado, estranhos na frente. Os atores estavam ocupados com seus trabalhos, enquanto a plateia entrava, exceto um. Um homem de cabelos loiros estava olhando para ela. Ela se sentia incrivelmente nervosa sob seu olhar. Rapidamente ela desviou o olhar, tentando se concentrar na peça diante dela.
No entanto, ele era implacável. Ele queria que ela olhasse para ele. Apenas um olhar rápido. Ele vestia roupas casuais, cabelo preso para trás e parecia alguns anos mais velho. Em ambos os lados dele estavam mais homens mais velhos, todos rindo e aproveitando a peça, exceto ele. Ele ainda mantinha sua atenção na única garota de cabelos escuros no meio da multidão.
Suas mãos se seguravam firmemente no colo, tentando acalmar as borboletas em seu estômago. O tecido de seu vestido já não estava fresco, pois o calor de seu corpo aumentava. Todos estavam alheios a essa troca. Essa troca curiosa e perigosa entre os mais improváveis estranhos. Ela não estava acostumada com a atenção de homens como esse. Mas ele estava dando a ela e ela não tinha ideia do que fazer com isso.
Ela não conseguia mais aproveitar "A Tempestade", pois sua mente estava totalmente ocupada com ele. Ela viu quando ele se inclinou para a pessoa ao lado dele e disse algo, olhando rapidamente na direção dela. Imediatamente ela desviou o olhar, mas sentiu o olhar deles. Ela queria se esconder, desconfortável com a atenção deles. As luzes azuis agora pareciam expor, como se estivessem entregando sua localização.
"Aqueles caras são bonitos", disse Georgia ao lado dela. Ela tinha cabelos castanhos claros, longos e olhos azuis. Elas eram amigas próximas.
"Eles estão tão desconfortáveis, ficam olhando."
"Ah, é mesmo?" Os olhos de Georgia se iluminaram e ela arrumou o cabelo, sentando-se para ter uma visão mais clara. Fahmeen sorriu e balançou a cabeça. "Sim. Especialmente o loiro."
"Ah, ele? Não, olhe para o que está ao lado dele", disse Georgia, mas Fahmeen não queria. Apenas ele despertava seu interesse. Ela mordeu o lábio e tentou se concentrar na peça.
Era o intervalo, parte da plateia se levantou, ansiosa para esticar as pernas e usar os banheiros.
"Se ao menos tivesse comida. Estou com tanta fome", gemeu Georgia, Fahmeen sorriu.
"Eu também." Era uma pena, realmente, a peça durava mais de três horas e não havia lanches. Discretamente, ela olhou pelo chão e viu seu admirador se levantar com seus amigos. Ela podia ver melhor sua roupa agora e ele se ergueu em toda a sua altura. Ok, ele era definitivamente mais velho que ela.
Ele usava uma camiseta branca simples e jeans pretos, e era inverno, então ele usava uma jaqueta bomber cor de caramelo. Mais perto e mais perto ele se aproximava, pois a saída estava atrás dela. Ela permaneceu no lugar, a ideia de se misturar com estranhos era extremamente desagradável, então sua bexiga aguentou. Sua voz estava mais próxima agora, era profunda e ele falava de forma clara e confiante. Seu sotaque era estrangeiro, americano!
Seu olhar estava no celular enquanto tentava ignorar sua passagem iminente. Ela o ouviu dizer:
"Não, eu gosto, só estou focado em outra coisa." Seu coração batia alto em seu peito, ela mordeu o lábio se sentindo super ansiosa. Ouvindo sua risada atrás dela, baixa e profunda, ela soltou um suspiro e finalmente olhou para cima. Seu celular marcava 8:35, mais uma hora e meia pela frente.
Uma vez que todos retomaram seus lugares, a peça recomeçou e a sala escureceu novamente. Ela relaxou na atmosfera do teatro, aproveitando a saída tardia com seus colegas de Literatura Inglesa. Havia algo de emocionante nas noites de inverno. A viagem de táxi até lá tinha sido divertida, ela ficou quieta, optando por aproveitar o vento gelado em seu rosto enquanto olhava pela janela, enquanto os outros estudantes conversavam.
O tempo passou e "A Tempestade" terminou. Com a última reverência, era hora de sair. O Sr. Granger (seu professor) se levantou, sinalizando a partida deles. Ela se levantou, assim como seus colegas de classe.
Ela lançou um olhar na direção do estranho e ele já estava olhando para ela, enquanto ainda estava sentado. Ele se inclinou para frente, antebraços nas coxas, as luzes agora brilhando em seu rosto. Ele falava entre sua companhia, mantendo o foco nela. Seu olhar sobre ela era egoísta, não se importando se ela queria ou não. Ela virou-se, pronta para seguir a fileira em que estava sentada, caminhando em direção às portas de saída. O sinal vermelho acima indicava para onde ir, enquanto a grande quantidade de pessoas calmamente saía por elas.
Ele desceu para o piso principal, em direção aos atores, e cumprimentou alguns deles. Ela não conseguiu ouvir o que estava sendo dito e a última coisa que viu antes de sair do teatro foram seus olhos arregalados e decepcionados a observando enquanto ela saía.
Era um começo de dia cedo. A turma estava toda presente, sem lugar vazio hoje. Ela estava sentada perto do fundo, com Georgia atrás dela. O Sr. Granger estava atrasado. Nada parecia incomum, no entanto, algo parecia diferente hoje.
Dez minutos depois e ainda nenhum professor.
"Eu digo que ele não vai vir. Aula encerrada!" Joey disse, saindo pela porta. Ele sempre era o primeiro. Um período livre, no entanto, eles teriam Inglês novamente no final do dia, então o que isso significaria?
Quem se importa, você pode fazer o que quiser agora.
Ela passou o restante da aula nos computadores e o resto do dia em suas outras lições. E o último período chegou. Ela pensou em faltar, mas ao passar pela porta, viu a sala cheia. Todos os seus colegas estavam lá e pareciam estar completamente interessados na pessoa em pé na frente deles. Ela certamente gostava de seu professor, mas nunca o achou tão interessante. Abrindo a porta lentamente, ela fez um som rangente que fez todos olharem na direção dela.
"Desculpe pelo atraso."
"De forma alguma, tome um assento." Uma voz familiar, porém estrangeira, se pronunciou. Ele estava de costas para ela, vestindo uma camisa branca e seu cabelo loiro preso. Rapidamente, ela percebeu quem era que estava chamando a atenção da turma.
Ela quase não podia acreditar que era ele. O cara do teatro era o professor substituto deles! Enquanto caminhava para seu lugar, ele se virou e, assim que seus olhos pousaram nela, ele congelou momentaneamente. Seus olhos verde-pálido se arregalaram levemente, e ela pôde ver um leve rubor em seu pescoço.
"Er, boa tarde. Sou seu novo professor, podem me chamar de Rolf."
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“I thought you said you were done chasing me?” Gen mocked.
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I let out a little gasp. His thumb rubbed across my lower lip.
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Her sister is marrying her ex. So she brings her best friend as her fake fiancé. What could possibly go wrong?
Savannah Hart thought she was over Dean Archer—until her sister, Chloe announces she's marrying him. The same man Savannah never stopped loving. The man who left her heartbroken… and now belongs to her sister.
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Why does being near him make my skin feel too tight, like I’m wearing a sweater two sizes too small?
It’s just newness, I tell myself firmly.
He’s my boyfirend’s brother.
This is Tyler’s family.
I’m not going to let one cold stare undo that.
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As a ballet dancer, My life looks perfect—scholarship, starring role, sweet boyfriend Tyler. Until Tyler shows his true colors and his older brother, Asher, comes home.
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Delicate.
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I don’t care.
It’s not my problem if Tyler’s an idiot.
It’s not my business if some spoiled little princess has to walk home in the dark.
I’m not here to rescue anyone.
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Especially not someone like her.
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I was here to prove myself—
One last shot at football, at freedom, at a future no one ever thought I’d deserve.
And then I met him.
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Cold. Demanding. Built like a legend and twice as ruthless.
From the first command, I wanted to fight him.
From the first Sir, I wanted to kneel.
But this wasn’t just about the game anymore.
He looked at me like he saw through every mask I wore…
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But I was already testing him. Pushing him.
Breaking him down until he begged for what he swore he didn’t need.
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About Author

thewritingstark
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