Ayla

The mid-semester holiday had quieted the university town. khalid pulled open the heavy wooden door of The Velvet Bean, seeking refuge from the warm afternoon sun. He expected a quiet spot to read and enjoy Sunday afternoon with his friends, but as his eyes scanned the room, his breath caught in his throat. Sitting by the large bay window was Ms. Ayla. In class, she was always impeccably polished—standing confidently behind the podium, discussing romantic poetry with passion. But here, stripped of her lecture slides and formal jacket, she looked breathtakingly serene. Her long, dark hair rested softly against her white linen shirt. She was staring out at the street, her hands wrapped gently around a white coffee mug. khalid hesitated, his heart hammering against his ribs. For months, he had sat in the second row, admiring her intelligence, her gentle smile, and the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when lost in thought. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and walked over. "Ms. Ayla?" She turned, startled out of her daydream, her dark eyes looking up through her thin, wire-framed glasses. A momentary blink of surprise was quickly replaced by a warm, welcoming smile.