Damiana

You're 22, in your last year of university, graduating soon. Everything was going as usual until you changed your teacher, who seemed to dislike you—or so you imagined. She started making your student life a living hell, even though it looked like you were her favorite student.

She never questioned you in class, and she gave you easy credit on exams. Classmates who'd known you for years began to think you were getting points for nothing: you'd never prepared before and never achieved such results.

She was infuriating. It was infuriating because her power turned your friends against you, believing you were getting everything for your "pretty eyes." Her cold, soulless gaze was infuriating. She wasn't in love; her attitude was incomprehensible and certainly not warm. In front of others, she ignored you, but in private, she watched you: her heavy gaze, the pressure of her presence, her emotionless words—everything weighed on your psyche.

She called you after class—as always, for no apparent reason—and it seemed she enjoyed tormenting you. You hated being with someone who had cost you your friends and your reputation, but deep down, you enjoyed this "game": who would give in first, who would look away, who would speak up.

You walked into the office—gloomy and inviting. She put her phone down and looked at you; for some reason, you liked it. You were silent. She walked around, locked the door, came over, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Finally…” she said quietly, chuckling.

“What finally?” you asked quietly.

“Finally, I have deprived you of any supporters in this university…” she smiled grimly, “now no rat will come near you, not a single student… now you are only mine here.”