Chapter 21

Exhaling a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, I nodded gratefully at Mr. Davies, his assurances still echoing in my mind. "Thank you, sir. I really believe you can help me with this," I said, the weight of worry finally lifting off my shoulders.
"Of course, anytime," he responded with that steady, reassuring smile.
I stepped out into the cool corridor, my heart lighter, feeling like the tangled threads of the issue at hand were starting to unravel and straighten under his guidance. The quiet of the school's hallway was a stark contrast to the storm of concerns that had been raging inside me before our meeting.
That's when I saw her—Elodie—emerging from Mrs. Jenkins' office just across the hall. Her presence was like a beacon of calm, her poise as ever unshakable, even in the mundane setting of the school's administrative wing.
"Hey," she greeted me with that warm smile that seemed reserved for those she truly cared about.
"Hi, Elodie," I replied, my voice tinged with the fondness I felt for her. She had tried to save me once, braving the cold depths without a second thought for herself, and it had transformed the way I saw her—from untouchable royalty to something akin to a sister.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" Elodie asked, her tone suddenly serious as she glanced back towards the closed door of Mr. Davies' room.
"Sure," I said, stepping closer, sensing the urgency in her demeanor.
She leaned in, her expression earnest. "Just be careful, okay? With Mr. Davies."
Confusion crept over me. "Careful?"
Elodie's eyes held mine, insistent yet kind. "He's a single man, and... well, there are things people talk about, you know? It might be best if you kept some distance." Her concern was palpable, and I couldn't help but appreciate her sincerity.
Elodie's hand rested on my shoulder, her grip firm but not unkind—a silent plea for my attention. I stopped mid-step, the hum of the corridor fading into a distant murve as she leaned closer. Her voice was a whisper, a conspiratorial thread between us.
"You don't understand. The teacher is quite popular," she murmured, her breath warm against my ear. "Not just with his classes, but as a man, he's popular with the girls."
I shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words bearing down on me. But my mind was clear; I wasn't some naive schoolgirl unaware of the world's workings. Elodie's gaze searched mine, insistent, protective perhaps. I knew she spoke from a place of care, but it was hard to match her caution with the man I had just left behind in that office—the one who, to me, seemed the embodiment of guidance and support.
"But he knows how to maintain boundaries. You might have noticed he's never been involved in any rumors like that." Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze, a gesture that sought to ground her warning in reality.
In that moment, standing there with Elodie, her concern was tangible. Yet, deep down, where intuition whispered, I sensed a disconnect. Mr. Davies' reputation, untarnished by scandal, bolstered my trust. And Elodie—dear, brave Elodie—I couldn't dismiss her words, but neither could they sway my belief in a teacher who had become my mentor.
"He's been teaching our class for three years," I whispered to myself, echoing the cadence of Elodie's earlier cautionary tale. Each syllable felt like a step further away from the tangled web she'd spun—a mantra to steady the wobbling trust within me.
My fingers curled into fists as I recalled the countless times I'd seen him in the classroom, the open door policy he maintained like a badge of honor. There was something reassuring about the way he never shuttered the windows or barred entry to anyone seeking guidance. His presence had always been a beacon; his office, a sanctuary where worries could be voiced without fear of judgment.
I watched as a group of students huddled outside another classroom, their voices a low hum beneath the fluorescent lights. Mr. Davies would stand just inside his threshold, leaning against the frame, keeping even mundane conversations well within the earshot of passersby.
"He hardly spends time alone with girls, let alone..." My thoughts trailed off as I struggled to merge Elodie’s insinuations with the man who had shown nothing but professional integrity. How could the person who encouraged open discussions and valued transparency be the subject of such warnings?
The final bell rang, slicing through my internal debate. Students spilled into the hallway, moving like a river around me, each one absorbed in their own world. I took a deep breath, the air tasting slightly of disinfectant and wax from the recently cleaned floors.
"Careful," I reminded myself, but not in the way Elodie meant. Careful not to lose sight of my own experiences, to not get swept up in rumors and whispers.
I shuffled the papers in my hand, a nervous habit that seemed to echo the fluttering in my chest. The hallway was quieter now, the bustle of students dissipating as they filtered into classrooms and out into the bright afternoon.
"But every time you visit him, he locks the door."
The words hung in the air between us, weighty and undeniable. I looked into Elodie's eyes, searching for the reason behind her concern. They held a seriousness that belied her usual warmth, urging me to take heed.
My mind raced back to each meeting with Mr. Davies, the click of the lock a subtle soundtrack I had dismissed as routine, a footnote in our discussions about literature and life. Yet here it was, being framed as an ominous prelude by someone who cared enough to warn me.
"Thanks for looking out for me, Elodie," I said, finally. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. Despite the unease that knotted my stomach, I couldn't shake the conviction that Mr. Davies was above reproach.
"Of course." She gave me a small smile, though her eyes still echoed worry.
I tucked the papers under my arm more securely and squared my shoulders. There were countless explanations for locking a door—privacy, concentration, or simply force of habit. It didn't mean anything. I was sure of it.
"See you at dinner?" I asked, eager to shift away from the disquieting topic.
"Sure," she replied, her voice returning to its usual lightness.
As I walked away, I couldn't help but replay Elodie's words in my head. The corridor stretched before me, lined with closed doors and secrets I wasn't certain I wanted to uncover. But my trust in Mr. Davies remained firmly intact; his character had proven itself to me through actions and words that spoke louder than whispers behind locked doors.
The hesitant click of the latch echoed as I pushed Mr. Davies' office door open, the soft hum of the overhead lights greeting me. My fingers smoothed down the fabric of my skirt, a nervous habit that seemed to flare in his presence.
"Ah, you came." Mr. Davies stood from behind his desk, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the desk lamp. "I wasn't certain you'd make it with the storm brewing."
"Of course," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "You said it was important."
He nodded, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they returned to mine. "Yes, quite."
I braced myself for an all-nighter surrounded by textbooks and essays, ready to justify my presence should anyone ask why I was here after hours. But Mr. Davies moved past me, reaching for his coat draped over the chair. His movements were fluid, purposeful, and suddenly, I wasn't so sure about my assumptions.
"Actually, I was thinking we might be more comfortable discussing your thesis at my home. I have some resources there that could prove invaluable to your research." He paused, waiting for my reaction.
My pulse quickened, the walls of the office seeming to inch closer. Elodie's warning played like a silent siren in my mind, yet the thought that Mr. Davies could harbor unsavory intentions towards me still didn't resonate. He had always been professional, albeit somewhat distant—a mentor, not a predator.
"Is... is that really necessary?" My voice was smaller than I intended, a thread of doubt weaving its way into the fabric of my trust.
"Only if you're agreeable," he said, his tone gentle. "I assure you, it's merely a matter of convenience. We can cover more ground without the distractions of the academy."
His home. The very suggestion should have set off alarms, but instead, it was as though he'd suggested something as innocuous as meeting at the library. It was Mr. Davies, after all—stalwart, steadfast, a pillar of academia. And yet, I couldn't dismiss Elodie’s whispered cautions entirely.
"Alright," I conceded, my decision laced with an attempt at confidence I didn’t quite feel. "Let's go then."
A flicker of approval crossed his features, and he offered a curt nod. "Very well. Let's not keep knowledge waiting."
As we stepped out into the crisp evening air, I clutched my notes a little tighter, the thrill of academic pursuit mingling with a whisper of uncertainty that refused to be stilled.