He stood at the head of the class, high but humble. Some of us were lulling to sleep as he lectured us and paced around the room like an anxious tiger in a zoo, desperate to keep us engaged.
He chose some of us to read and some to answer the questions asked. Indeed I am paying attention, but every time we make eye contact, his are full of doubt. I find it funny he thinks like this of me. I find it funny I know he (isn't) fond of me. He rubs me wrong. I have a feeling strong that there is something more to him (there has to be!).
There is always more than meets the eye.
He came up to me one afternoon, pulling me outside of the classroom. We began talking and time started to fly, before I knew it it was time to say our goodbyes. We kissed and hugged, the next day came and he didn't show up. Then the next one, I didn't think much further. But what really happened was the poor man had been murdered. What happened to his body, we never knew. Rumor has it though, they say it was burned. They say the classroom his haunted, no one has come to deny, they say his ashes are under the floor boards to leave behind.