And yet—she hadn’t walked away.
That was what caught my attention.
Not the curves.
Well, not her curves at first.
Though to be clear—they did not go unnoticed.
Not even close.
The Witch had a body that demanded attention whether she wanted it or not.
Soft where others were sharp.
Full where others carved themselves down to fit whatever ideal they chased.
Ass that curved like sin.
Thighs that pressed together when she walked.
A softness that would wreck a man if he wasn’t careful.
And I was not careful.
Not tonight.
Because it wasn’t just the physical I found so appealing about her.
It was just her.
The way she tried to disappear into spaces that refused to hide her.
The way she folded herself inward in lecture halls, hunched over her notes, doodling in the margins when she thought no one was looking.
I noticed.
I always noticed.
Because I did the same thing.
Stayed to the edges.
Stayed unseen.
The difference?
I chose it.
But her? She endured it.
And, for some reason, that mattered.
In class, she never lied when called out.
Never deflected.
Never spun some clever excuse to cover her lack of attention.
