The academy felt different the moment Jasmine stepped back into the main corridor. Students were moving normally, lockers slamming, chatter echoing, shoes squeaking across polished tiles — yet beneath that ordinary noise, the air carried something sharper. A whispering tension, subtle but unmistakable. News had traveled fast.
Lisa walked on Jasmine's left, shoulders squared, gaze locked forward as though daring anyone to stare too long. Nathalie remained on the right, maintaining a professional distance but watching Jasmine from the corner of her eye with quiet vigilance.
Jasmine could feel the stares. They pricked at her skin like static.
Lisa muttered, "Ignore them."
"I'm trying," Jasmine whispered.
Nathalie's tone was low, steady. "You don't owe this hallway anything. Keep walking."
But Jasmine could hear the fragments already:
"…the meeting…"
"…she fainted, again—"
"…teacher review…"
"…is it true?…"
"…Lisa fought with—"
It felt like walking through smoke — impossible not to inhale. Jasmine clenched her jaw, focusing on her steps, the rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of Lisa's hand brushing hers every few seconds.
Suddenly Elliot appeared from a side corridor, expression unreadable as always. He halted in front of the trio, hands behind his back.
"Jasmine," he greeted calmly. "How are you feeling?"
Lisa rolled her eyes. "She doesn't need an interrogation round two."
Elliot blinked once. "I was not interrogating. I am simply… concerned."
That caught Jasmine off guard.
Nathalie studied him carefully. "Your testimony made a difference. Thank you."
"You need not thank me," he replied. "I spoke the truth as I observed it."
But then his eyes shifted to Jasmine — clear, analytical, too perceptive.
"However, you should prepare. Students will invent their own version of events. The board's decision will circulate by noon."
Lisa tensed. "Let them come. I'm not scared of a few idiots whispering."
"They are not whispering to hurt you," Elliot said simply. "They are whispering because they do not understand what happened."
He turned to Jasmine again. "If you need assistance controlling the narrative, I can help."
Lisa stepped forward immediately. "She doesn't need you."
"Lisa," Jasmine said softly, "stop."
Lisa froze, stunned by Jasmine's tone — firm, calm, intentional.
Jasmine looked at Elliot. "Thank you. But I don't want anyone controlling the narrative. Not even you. I'll handle it."
Elliot bowed his head slightly. "As you wish."
He walked away, leaving a strange silence behind him.
Lisa exhaled sharply. "I swear he's a walking textbook."
But Jasmine wasn't listening. Her thoughts were drifting — to the boardroom, to the weight of her own words, to the realization still echoing in her chest.
I have feelings I don't understand. For both of them.
Every time she looked at Lisa now, she saw the fear beneath the anger. And every time she looked at Nathalie, she saw restraint — heavy, painful restraint.
They reached the stairwell, quieter than the hallways, the shadows gentler.
Nathalie paused. "Jasmine… would you allow me a word? Alone."
Lisa's reaction was instant. "No. Absolutely not. She's exhausted."
Jasmine raised a hand. "It's fine."
Lisa's jaw locked, but she obeyed, stepping back.
Jasmine followed Nathalie into the alcove beside the supply closet — the same corner teachers often used for private conversations. The same corner where rumors often started.
Nathalie kept her distance, but her voice was soft, almost fragile.
"What you said in the boardroom… about your feelings… You didn't have to carry that weight."
"I did," Jasmine replied. "It was the truth."
A tremor passed across Nathalie's features before she hid it. "And now the board will monitor everything I do. Every word I say to you. I want to protect you, Jasmine, but I'm terrified of harming you by accident."
Jasmine stepped closer. "You've never harmed me."
Nathalie's breath hitched. "You don't understand. Every emotion I suppress is for your safety. I can't let myself—"
She stopped suddenly, closing her eyes.
Jasmine whispered, "You can trust me."
"Trust isn't the problem," Nathalie murmured. "Desire is."
Jasmine's heartbeat stumbled.
Nathalie forced herself to look away. "I can't cross that line. Not now. Not ever."
But the way she said it did not sound like rejection.
It sounded like a confession trapped behind iron discipline.
Before Jasmine could answer, a voice called from down the hall:
"Jasmine? You okay?"
Lisa.
Nathalie stepped back immediately, professional mask falling into place.
"Go to her," she said. "She's hurting more than she admits."
Jasmine turned slowly — and realized something piercing:
Lisa wasn't just protective.
She was scared.
Scared of losing Jasmine.
Scared of not being enough.
Jasmine rejoined her, and Lisa grabbed her hand without hesitation. "Let's get out of this wing. People are staring like vultures."
As they walked away, Jasmine looked back one last time.
Nathalie was still standing in the alcove, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on the ground — as though she had finally allowed herself to break, but only in the shadows where no one could see.
Jasmine's chest tightened.
For the first time, she truly understood the truth:
She wasn't choosing between two women.
She was choosing between two different kinds of pain.