She looked like Audrey Hepburn, if she'd come from Iran. He'd realized it while catching a late revival of My Fair Lady, and walking from the cinema in the night and the rain he thought, "That's why I'm falling in love with her." He wanted to be with her, always. But it wasn't that simple.
He was the newest teacher at school, young and looking younger. She was maybe ten years his senior. She was also divorced, with a small child that she had to juggle with the not too responsible father figure. Other than that, teaching math she had a strict professionalism that he admired, and on the other hand always kept him at a distance. He didn't want to intrude, especially since he felt that he couldn't be completely professional around her, like a coworker should. But that left out another complication.
He had a girlfriend, who he loved. She loved him. They were happy together, had talked about marriage even. Not once had he regretted his decision to be with her, until this infatuation at work.
Other circumstances, beyond his control, pushed them closer. She was his mentor, so they had to spend time together. He was literally instructed to place himself at the back of the classroom a couple of lessons every day and watch her as she moved from student to student, sometimes stroking them across the back, encouraging them to keep going. Sometimes her long and curly hair would tickle them, and make them laugh together. If he had been one of them, he knew that he would've been obsessed with her. She would've been his first crush, his first fantasy. Like many teenagers he would've nourished a stupid wish for something to happen, maybe at the graduation party. He'd seen the movies. A part of him almost wished that that had been the case. Things would have been less complicated then. Impossible.
Part of the day, he didn't see her at all. But he thought about her. Have you experienced the feeling you get when you admire someone so much that you can't bring yourself to masturbate about them, as if that would be disrespectful? That's the way it was for him. Other younger teachers he didn't have a problem with. They were nothing to him, just a quick glance in the corridor, a quickie in the teachers' restroom, imagining them on their knees, sucking his cock, or bending over the teacher's desk, inviting him to fuck them from behind. It was over in a couple of minutes, and he wiped himself off without complicated emotions.
Day after day, everything was the same. Then something happened. A couple of students started to be mean to her, nothing much, but it kept going and going, and in such a way that they technically didn't do anything wrong. It was an attitude, and it spread from the first couple of students to some of the others. From outside, it was a small problem, but anyone who's been a teacher know that it can ruin an entire year.
***
He glanced at her, still standing at the back of the classroom, pretending to take notes. It was worse today, and he felt for her. She moved with little jerks, threw her hair back, irritated. She'd lovely hair, even though she joked about it. Now she seemed to want to cut it off with a sharp knife. Eventually, he couldn't stand it any longer. He had to do something, and he felt pathetic when the only thing that came to mind was to help her tidy up. She didn't notice. The silence spread from her, filled the space between them.
"Excuse me," he said as their hands accidently touched over a couple of papers. He backed away, didn't want to offend.
"No," she said. "Excuse me. I'm having a shit day."
"I noticed."
"You did?" She laughed half-heartedly. Her strict demeanor never left her, but when she smiled it was amazing, like a loving authority. But this was not that. It was a sad smile. She sat down.
"I don't know what to do," she said.
"Have you tried speaking to the principal?" he asked, and sat down a couple of seats away from her, hands between his thighs.
"That won't help."
Once again, he realized that she had more experience than him, this included. He felt like an idiot.
