Loving the Teacher

Name: Loving the Teacher
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Berky Lorelike

Modern | Completed

5.0

Comment(s)

742

View

Chapters

A murder case, two killers!

Crime Modern Unrequited love Betrayal Playboy

Chapter 7 Different Directions

12-24 14:34

Chapter 1 My Teacher

An 20-year-old girl was deceived by her 48-year-old teacher, and in a fit of anger, accidentally killed him. Her father voluntarily admitted to manslaughter and went to prison for her.

The winter sun, though dazzling and bright, lacked the warmth it should have had under the assault of the cold wind. I breathed into my hands, trying to warm them as I carried my cello. It was so cold. This winter was freezing, and it felt like my breath turned to ice as soon as I exhaled.

I stood before a villa with an old-fashioned design, rubbing my hands together before pressing the doorbell. I could faintly hear hurried footsteps approaching from inside. The door creaked open, and a tall man stepped into view.

Despite his black hair, his face showed signs of age, with crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, a testament to his age. This man was over forty.

"Elliana Ford, right? Come in quickly, it's cold outside, isn't it?" The man naturally took my cello and naturally handed me a can of warm milk. At that moment, my hands felt instantly warmed.

This man was Greyson Gill, the cello teacher my father had found for me. His reputation was well-known, and many students sought his mentorship.

I was no exception; I had waited a full week for this lesson, and each session cost 2000 dollars. As I entered from the doorway, I hesitated slightly, but as soon as I stepped inside, a wave of warm air hit me, leaving me momentarily dizzy.

Greyson placed the cello on the storage rack behind him and bent down to offer me a pair of pink plush slippers, saying, "Put these on, they're new. I got them just for you since I heard you were coming."

To be honest, I felt a bit awkward at that moment. After all, I was just over twenty, and no man had ever been so considerate to me, especially not someone as famous as Greyson. When he bent down and smiled, he seemed as kind as a father, without a trace of the arrogance one might expect from an artist.

Suddenly, I felt my cheeks warm up! The slippers were indeed cozy!

The cello lesson was very relaxed, completely different from what I was used to. Greyson had a humorous way of speaking, with a mischievousness that belied his age. He was a man with a great sense of humor. Especially when he played the cello, he bathed in the morning sun, and gave off a soft, golden glow. For a fleeting moment, he seemed almost divine. This was the essence of what an artist should be.

After that, I often went to him for lessons, harboring a vague and indescribable feeling towards him, like respect, admiration, or perhaps even affection.

To be honest, Greyson showed me more care than a music teacher should. He would guide my hands on how to hold the bow correctly and whisper in my ear about how nice my hair smelled that day. Every time this happened, my cheeks would flush, and I knew I was blushing furiously.

Every time I went to him for lessons, a can of warm milk was always prepared in advance. He would sit on the living room sofa, sipping a bitter cup of coffee, and look at me with a fond smile, saying, "You young ladies love these sweet things."

Every time, I would stare blankly at him, with a faint feeling in my heart that something inside me was slowly crumbling.

I didn't know when it started, but I began paying attention to my appearance when visiting him, subconsciously choosing the white dress he liked, washing my hair with the shampoo he once said smelled good, and even practicing my smile in front of the mirror to see how I could look better.

Before meeting Greyson, I felt like a moth drawn to a distant flame in the dark, desperately trying to show my beauty, only to fall into the abyss for lack of light. After meeting Greyson, I felt like I saw a glimmer of light in the distance, with a sacred glow guiding me forward.

I seemed to have fallen in love. That day, I slowly walked to Greyson's door with my cello, as our lessons were about to end. It was the last day of my lessons.

After the lesson, Greyson carefully wiped the dirt off my cello. As I watched him gently and meticulously clean it, my eyes suddenly became warm with tears, and in a moment of impulse, I threw myself into Greyson's arms.

His body tensed for a second, then he hugged me more passionately. He kissed me, holding me tightly, expressing his reluctance to let go through his actions.

Indeed, he loved me just as I loved him!