We’re sitting across from each other on a park bench. He’s frowning into his Geometry book, brows knotted together. A slight spring breeze rustles his already tousled sandy hair. I’m watching him, but he doesn’t notice.

“Okay,” his perfect lips move. I’m watching it all. “I think I got it this time. Test me?”

His beautiful, chocolate eyes meet mine, and my mind stops functioning for an instant. So beautiful. How it makes my heart ache. How I wish he were mine.

“Sure,” I say casually. I take the Geometry book from his hands. “Um, just any problem?”

His eyes are still on mine, guarded and expressionless. “Yeah.”

Swallowing quickly, I scan the geometrical shapes scattered across the pages. I find a moderately difficult proof. As his tutor, I expect he could solve it. Tutor. The word echoes in my mind. Just his tutor. Nothing more. But my heart says otherwise.

I show him the problem and he sets to work with that efficiency and determination that I admire so. His pencil scribbles across my notepad with precise strokes. I’m still studying his features. The shape of those cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw…

He suddenly looks up, meeting my calculating gaze. I feel my cheeks burn and I look away swiftly, cursing myself inwardly.

“Sara…” he says my name softly.

I slowly meet his gaze again and nearly melt. His beautiful eyes are wide, staring straight into mine. There’s so much honesty, so much life and vigor in those eyes. He sees me. He’s not just the boy from class who asked me for math help. My heart races on.

“Yes?” I whisper quietly back, hoping to prolong this wonderful, wonderful moment.

But it passes. It always does.

“I’m done,” he says simply. “Check my work?”

He pushes the notepad toward me, and I look into his eyes again. The truth is there, lying in plain sight. I’m his tutor, and he is my student. There is nothing more.