Jennifer blinked.
She didn't say anything at first.
Her eyes had only just adjusted to the dim light spilling from Miss Emily's door, but her mind refused to make sense of what she saw.
Maria.
Miss Emily.
Alone.
In that room.
At this hour.
Jennifer's lips parted, but the words came out too soft, too strange.
"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."
She stepped back, her voice barely a breath. Before either of them could reply, she turned and walked away.
Her footsteps echoed faintly down the quiet corridor. The night air was cooler now, but her skin burned.
What was Maria doing there?
Why now? Why in Miss Emily's office?
Why...on a bed?
Jennifer didn't know if she had truly seen that-her mind kept reshaping the image-but it wouldn't leave her.
Did Miss Emily invite her?
Did Maria sneak in?
Was this something they've done before...?
She shook her head, quickening her pace.
"I shouldn't have come here," she whispered, more to herself than anyone.
But her thoughts kept spinning.
No answer came. Only silence. And a strange, sharp pain growing in her chest-something between anger, shame... and something she didn't want to name.
The dorms were already silent when she reached them. The lights were still out. Cynthia's blanket had fallen to the floor. Angela was curled up near the wall, breathing softly.
Jennifer stood by her own bed without moving. Her hands stayed clenched at her sides.
She didn't understand what she had seen. But she knew one thing:
She didn't want to dream tonight.
Not about chocolate.
Not about kisses.
Not about Miss Emily.
And not about Maria.
She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
The darkness there felt safer than anything else.
...
SPLASH.
Cold water hit her cheek.
Jennifer gasped and sat up quickly.
She blinked hard, her hand swiping at the water on her face. Her blanket had slipped halfway off the bed.
Cynthia stood near the corner of the bed, holding an empty plastic bottle. Angela was beside her.
"You've overslept," Cynthia shouted.
Angela added sharply, "Ten minutes to geography preps."
Jennifer sat still for a second, confused. Her heart felt strange. Her mind hadn't caught up.
"What do you mean?" she whispered. Her voice was rough.
Cynthia didn't answer. Jennifer reached to the side of her bed and grabbed her small watch.
5:50 a.m.
Preps started at 6:00 a. m, but everyone always went to class by 5:30 a.m.
She was already twenty minutes late.
Jennifer stood up quickly, her body still half-asleep.
Angela and Cynthia were already moving toward the door.
"Hurry up!" Cynthia said.
"We're going!" Angela added.
Jennifer nodded, her fingers fumbling with the basin near her bed. She scooped a little water, splashing it over her face with quick, clumsy hands. The water dripped down her neck and onto her collar. She didn't even bother drying off. There was no time.
She reached for her sweater, threw it over her shoulders, grabbed her book and pen.
The door was already swinging shut behind the other girls.
She followed, her steps uneven, her heart still not calm.
Jennifer reached the prep class just a few girls were settling down with their books. She slipped into her usual spot near the back, still feeling the cold from the water on her neck.
Her breath hadn't settled. Her thoughts hadn't either.
She hadn't even opened her book when the door creaked again.
Miss Emily entered.
The room shifted immediately.
Some girls sat up straighter. Others exchanged glances. Someone near the window whispered, "Isn't this geography?"
The low hmmm hmm spread like small ripples, but Miss Emily didn't respond to it.
She walked calmly to the front of the room, her scarf tied carefully at her neck, as always. She placed her notebook on the teacher's table.
Her eyes scanned the room briefly.
They stopped on Jennifer.
Jennifer felt it before she saw it. That look.
She turned her head slightly-just enough to avoid it.
Why is she here?
Why not Mr. Pascal? This was supposed to be geography...
Miss Emily's voice cut through the air, firm but soft.
"Settle down. The geography teacher asked me to stand in for this session. He's running some errands."
The murmuring stopped.
Chairs shifted. Books opened.
But Jennifer's heart didn't calm.
Not yet.
Miss Emily closed the book in her hands and looked up at the class.
"Let's do something different," she said.
"You all look half-asleep. I want two people to come up and lead a small competition.
We'll call it...Group A and Group B."
She paused. "Choose your leaders. Shout them out."
The class stirred quickly. Murmurs began.
"Maria!"
"Maria! Maria!"
Her name filled the room, no surprise.
Then another voice-faint, but clear:
"Jennifer!"
Jennifer blinked.
Then another voice repeated it.
"Jennifer!"
Miss Emily raised a brow and looked around.
"Sounds like we have our two."
She wrote quickly on the board.
Group A-Maria
Group B-Jennifer
"Stand up. Both of you," she said.
Jennifer rose, quietly. Maria stood, her face unreadable.
Miss Emily looked around the class. "Now here's the challenge. I will ask a few general questions. Not hard ones, but you must think fast."
She paused, then added, "Each group will get two minutes to discuss before answering."
A ripple of noise went through the room.
"Maria's group, to the left side. Jennifer's group, to the right. Go."
Chairs moved. Girls split up. The competition had begun.
Miss Emily moved quietly to the front of the class. Her heels lightly on the floor as she picked up a small white folder from the teacher's table.
She didn't say anything at first.
Then she opened the folder, pulled out a single photo, and held it up for the whole class to see.
It was simple. Black and White.
A closed door-wooden, worn out.
No handle. No lock. Just a door standing in the middle of an empty hallway.
"This is your challenge," Miss Emily said softly. "Each group has two minutes to look at this photo...and tell me what it means to you."
A quiet wave passed through the room.
Jennifer stared at the photo. Something in her chest shifted.
A door with no handle.
A hallway with no end.
Miss Emily continued, "You are not guessing the answer. There is no answer. Just meaning. Your meaning."
She turned the photo toward Group A.
"Maria's group, you may begin."
The girls huddled, Murmurs rose.
Jennifer's group did the same, but her mind wasn't in the discussion. Angela whispered something beside her. Cynthia leaned in too, suggesting lines, metaphors.
But Jennifer's eyes were still locked on that photo.
That door...it was like how she felt last night.
Like how she always felt around Clara.
Closed. Silent. Too hard to open.
Miss Emily gave a soft clap.
"Time's up. Maria, please speak for your group."
Maria stood confidently.
"We think the door represents boundaries," she said. "A space someone doesn't want others to enter. It shows strength. Protection."
Miss Emily nodded slowly. "Thank you."
Then she turned.
"Jennifer?"
Jennifer rose, slower.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was steady.
"We think...the door means being trapped.
Not by others, but by something inside.
You want to open it, but there's no handle.
So you just stare. And wait. Maybe forever."
Silence.
For a full second, even the whispering stopped.
Miss Emily didn't move.
Her eyes were on Jennifer.
And Jennifer?
She sat down quickly and didn't look back.
Miss Emily placed the photo back into the folder and turned to face the class.
"Thank you, both groups," she said.
She looked at Maria's first.
"Your answer showed strength. But also distance. Boundaries can protect...but they can also isolate. So your interpretation is...doubtful. Not wrong. Just missing something."
Her voice was calm. No smile. No judgement.
Then she turned to Jennifer.
"Yours carried silence. But also honesty."
That was all she said.
But the message was clear.
A cheer rose quietly from Jennifer's group-not loud, not wild. Just soft clapping, a few smiles, Angela tapping her hand twice against the table.
"Still," Miss Emily added, 'both of you tried."
She walked toward her desk and opened a drawer.
Out came a small sachets of two chocolates-shiny, dark red packaging.
"A small reward," she said, "for effort."
She walked over to Maria, dropping one in her hand without a pause.
Then she turned.
She walked over to Jennifer's desk, chocolate sachet between her fingers.
Jennifer stared at it.
The wrapper. the shape.
She knew that chocolate.
The same brand...the same kind she always loved most.
Miss Emily held it out, her eyes unreadable.
Jennifer blinked once, slowly.
"No, thank you," she said. Her voice was flat. "I'm allergic to chocolate."
The class went quiet.