Paint Me, Professor | Student-Professor Erotic Novel | 18+ | ✔️

95 - Peace

Christopher
***

I fumbled in my pocket until I found my apartment keys. Ali told me she'd be conducting interviews the whole morning until lunchtime, so I made sure to be extra quiet as I opened the door and walked in.

"In your CV it says that you were an editor of your student union's newspaper," she said over the phone. "Can you tell me a little more about that experience?"

Ali was standing in front of the kitchen island, her laptop in front of her. She had CVs scattered all over the island. I knew she liked standing up while speaking on the phone, so I didn't bat an eye at that strange working setup.

She winked at me as I closed the door softly behind me. I smiled back, fighting the feeling to rush to her and kiss her. Every Saturday when I came home from day care my clothes were all dirty and sweaty from painting with the kids. I always felt the need to at least wash my hands before getting near her.

I hurried to the bedroom and quickly changed into shorts and a t-shirt. I rinsed my hands under the skin, scrubbing under the nails. Finally, I splashed my face with cold water. It was so unbelievably hot.

Once freshened up, I rejoined Ali in the kitchen. She was still on the phone, a pen between her teeth as she listened attentively to the candidate. I made zero noise as I opened the fridge to check if she had cooked anything for lunch. As expected, she hadn't.

I had never seen someone work as hard as Ali. Even in the middle of summer she was conducting interviews due to HR shortages at Art Press. Even though the company was well established in France, she told me it felt like she had started working at a start-up given the challenges her and her senior colleagues were facing.

When we started growing apart during her time in Paris, she always attributed her absence to her work, but I always thought she just stopped caring about me. Now that she moved in to my apartment and I got to see her every day, I realized she was telling the truth all along. She worked herself to the bone every day, and I couldn't be prouder of her. Seeing her like this, taking charge of a whole department and helping where needed made me see how much she had grown and matured.

I was even more attracted to her now than when I was her professor.

"What would you say are your top skills? What value can you bring to Art Press?" She asked, her eyes fixed on the computer as she typed, balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear.

Due to the summer heat, Ali was wearing a loose dress to keep cool. She had also tied her long hair into a ponytail, but I loved seeing how it cascaded down her back, her understated golden highlights making her glow.

Slowly and without making a sound, I approached her. I stood behind her and gently pulled her hairband, allowing her hair to fall freely. She kept talking on the phone as if I wasn't there.

I ran my fingers through her smooth hair. Before she moved in she confessed that she grew her hair because she was no longer afraid of seeing her sixteen year old self in the mirror.

Her honesty and bravery in telling me that just a couple of days after we reconnected inspired me to fully heal my scars from the past. I contacted a few day cares and asked if they needed volunteers to teach kids how to paint. I knew it looked rather odd for a university professor to want to be around kids aged five to twelve in his free time, so naturally I was asked about my motivations. There was no point in lying. I told them about my past and how I wanted to build positive memories with kids close to Oliver's age.