I’m 22 now, and lately I’ve been reflecting on my high school years. One memory keeps resurfacing—the unusual dynamic I had with one of my teachers.
He was young, only twenty-four, with a geeky charm and a kind of boyish cuteness. He joined my school the year I turned fourteen. I always sat at the front of the class, and he would spend most of the lesson kneeling beside my desk. We’d chat about shared interests, exchange bits of gossip, and laugh together. Sometimes he’d even slip me the answers to assignments or tests. He often leaned in so close—just inches from my face—while offering casual compliments like, “Your hair looks lovely curly,” or “Your laugh is adorable.”
Over time, I noticed things shifting. He began kneeling in ways that placed him uncomfortably close, his thigh brushing against my legs. When I tried to move away, he would simply adjust to stay near. At other times, he’d stand behind me, bracing his hands on either side so I couldn’t move, whispering answers into my ear.
My classmates grew frustrated, since he spent most of his attention on me. Eventually, a friend asked if I was alright, pointing out how he stared at me constantly—both in class and in the hallways.
Yet, he wasn’t only intrusive. He was also tender in moments when I was vulnerable. He supported me through panic attacks, offered extra tutoring, and comforted me when my sister was hospitalized. Those gestures made me feel seen and cared for.
Still, his behavior grew stranger. He’d drop his pen in front of my desk repeatedly, knowing I wore the school’s skirt uniform. He defended me whenever boys teased me, and when I felt low, he’d rest his hand on my leg to calm me. My friends disliked him intensely, but I adored the attention.
Looking back now, I feel conflicted. At the time, he seemed sweet and protective, but as an adult, I recognize an unsettling undertone.
To clarify, I was fourteen, not sixteen as I mistakenly typed before. He encouraged me to get a fake ID so we could go to a club, grew angry whenever I mentioned other boys, and often bought me lunch—sneaking out to get something nicer than the free meals I received. We’d eat together, just the two of us. He even asked if I wanted to meet up after leaving school, and offered to buy me alcohol for prom since I’d still be underage.
Now I wonder: was this truly something, or was it all in my head?
