Chapter 3: Correction by Contact

  Thursday came with a quiet chill in the air. The campus trees had begun to turn—amber, rust, soft gold—and the smell of damp leaves curled into the corners of the buildings. Mira arrived at the west wing of Carnegie Library early again, nerves coiled beneath her ribs.

  Lena was already seated, her notebook open, a pair of reading gsses banced low on her nose this time. The softest touch of vulnerability Mira had seen yet. But the moment Lena looked up, Mira forgot how to breathe.

  Lena removed the gsses in one slow motion, folding them and setting them aside. “You’re five minutes early today.”

  Mira sat down carefully. “I had nowhere else to be.”

  “That sounds like an excuse,” Lena murmured, but her tone wasn’t cold. If anything, it sounded faintly amused. Or pleased.

  “I just... wanted to be prepared,” Mira added, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

  Lena’s gaze slid down to Mira’s hands. “Still can’t be still.”

  Mira froze. Her fingers twitched once, then stopped.

  Lena didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth tugged slightly.

  “Take out your essay,” she said, voice even. “We’ll work on your transitions today.”

  Mira obeyed, pulling the slightly crumpled draft from her folder. She set it on the table between them, smoothing the creases.

  Lena didn’t move for a moment. Then she reached across the table and gently pulled the paper toward her side, bringing Mira’s hand with it.

  “I want you to read aloud,” Lena said, “but slowly. Think about each sentence. And this time, when you pause—don’t fill it with noise. Just breathe.”

  Mira nodded, heart thudding a little harder.

  She started to read, her voice barely above a whisper. Lena said nothing at first—she just listened, her gaze fixed on Mira’s mouth, her expression unreadable.

  Then, mid-sentence, Lena reached across the table and id two fingers on Mira’s wrist.

  “Pause,” she said quietly. “You rushed.”

  Mira faltered. The touch was featherlight, but her entire arm tightened beneath it.

  “I—I didn’t mean to.”

  Lena didn’t answer right away. Her fingers stayed there, resting just enough to make Mira hyperaware of every breath.

  “But you did,” Lena said finally, softer now.

  She let the silence stretch, then shifted her chair back with a quiet scrape. Mira blinked in confusion—until Lena stood and walked slowly around the table.

  Mira’s breath caught. She didn’t dare look up.

  Lena stopped behind her, then bent slightly at the waist. One hand slid over Mira’s shoulder, the other reaching to rest on the table beside her hand.

  “Let me show you.”

  She didn’t ask. She just pced the pen in Mira’s fingers, wrapped her own around them, and began guiding.

  Her chest brushed Mira’s shoulder as she leaned in. Mira froze, her pulse jumping.

  Lena’s voice came low, right beside her ear. “Here—rewrite this part.”

  Together, their hands moved. Lena led the pen with calm precision, rewriting the sentence in Mira’s shaky grip. Her hand on Mira’s back shifted lower, fingers spyed just at the base of her spine, anchoring her there.

  Mira couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe.

  The scent of Lena—clean, warm, faintly vender —wrapped around her. Her mouth was so close to Mira’s cheek that each exhale grazed her skin.

  “Better,” Lena murmured. Her hand moved again, trailing up the curve of Mira’s waist. The touch was subtle—barely grazing under her sweater. But it felt electric.

  “You’re still holding your breath.”

  “I’m not,” Mira whispered.

  “You are.”

  Lena’s fingers curved against her side, not quite possessive, but close. Mira couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t move.

  “I…” Her voice gave out.

  Lena didn’t press further. She simply stood there, steady and quiet, like she was waiting for Mira to unravel.

  Then, gently, she pulled away. The warmth disappeared with her.

  “Session’s over,” Lena said, stepping back. “We’ll pick up here next week.”

  Mira blinked. “Already?”

  “It’s been an hour.”

  Mira gnced at the clock. She hadn’t even noticed.

  She gathered her things in silence, fingers trembling. Her skin still buzzed where Lena had touched her.

  As she stood to leave, Lena spoke again.

  “Mira.”

  She turned.

  Lena looked at her, eyes unreadable, calm. “Keep your hands still next time.”

  Mira nodded, throat dry. “Okay.”

  Lena watched her leave. Mira didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Her legs carried her out of the library, pulse racing, face hot.

  It had been an hour.

  And Lena hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t done anything that could be called inappropriate, really.

  But Mira’s whole body felt rewired.

  And somewhere deep down, something in her wanted to obey again. Whatever Lena asked. However she asked it.