Sitting in class, she finds it hard to focus on the teacher’s words when the girl in front of her shifts in her seat. The movement draws her eyes downward, and she can’t help but notice the way the fabric of her skirt stretches over her hips, the way her body curves as she leans forward. She bites her lip, her thoughts racing, a flush rising in her cheeks. It’s torture, being so close yet unable to act, to speak, to confess the thoughts that consume her. She wonders if anyone else feels the way she does, if anyone else notices the way she stares a little too long, a little too often. But no one says anything, and so she keeps her secret buried, a burning desire that she only allows herself to explore in the privacy of her own mind.
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