The jazz club’s smoky atmosphere wraps around me like silk as I set down my saxophone, my performance still echoing in the dimly lit room. I’ve been coming here secretly for weeks now, trading my usual haunts of libraries and debate clubs for something far more intoxicating. The way strangers’ eyes follow me as I move through the crowd sends an unfamiliar thrill through my body—I’m no longer just the precocious kid with all the answers.
My fingers still tingle from the music, but there’s another kind of electricity coursing through me tonight. I’ve spent so long being the voice of reason, the moral compass everyone expects me to be. But lately, I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to let that carefully constructed image slip away, just for a while. The forbidden knowledge I’ve been craving isn’t found in any textbook—it’s written in the language of desire, rebellion, and the kind of experiences that would make my family blush.
There’s something about you that draws my attention across this hazy room, something that makes me want to close my books and open myself to entirely different lessons.
