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She’d managed to evade him tonight.  Ni Na had decided to spend one last night sleeping over at the orphanage after tucking Dae Hee into bed.  The young teacher kept herself awake until the little girl had fallen asleep.  Then she slipped into her own bedroom and shut the door before heading to her bed alone.  And on her own power.  Beom Sook wouldn’t be tucking her in tonight. 

Why did that circumstance depress her so much?

She really had to figure out a way to eject that man from her heart.  Before it was too late.  And she was scarred for life.

The problem was…every time he looked at her…spoke to her…breathed on her, he made her heart flutter.  And she had no idea how to rob him of that power.

––

“Ni Na, what’s wrong?” Beom Sook asked her as he entered her classroom at the end of the next day to find her chewing on the end of her quill pen as she gazed down at a crisp piece of parchment.  A faint frown was troubling her brow.  “Is it the missing pen and ink?”

She shook her head.  “No.  They turned up this morning.  Though I think now I know why they disappeared,” she murmured mysteriously.

He stared down at her in some consternation.  “What are you talking about?”

She glanced up at him and surprised him by chortling.  “I think, my dear friend, that what we have here is a clear case of puppy love.”  She was tapping the parchment under her hand with one fingertip.

Confusion disturbed his brow now.  “What do you have here?”

He bent over her desk and glanced down at the sheet in front of her.  Then his eyes perused the missive as his tongue uttered the words which his mind was unraveling.  He didn’t realize it, but as he began reciting, Ni Na closed her eyes to cherish the sentiments tumbling from his lips.

“Do you think that I’m indifferent to your touch?

The truth is that I – I love you so very much.

Do you think that I am blind to your fair beauty?

No, my dear, loving you is my sacred duty.

“Do you think that I can’t hear your lovely laughter,

Wakening the glory of my days, hereafter?

Do you think I don’t love the music of your voice?

It wraps me in splendor till you’re my only choice.”

A tear invaded her eye at the melodic sound of his deep voice.  Inwardly, she was sighing.  Wishing that this adorable man entertained such beautiful feelings for her. 

“You think one of the boys wrote this poem?” he queried, turning his gaze upon her.

She opened her eyes, and that traitorous tear trembled on her eyelashes.  She reached up to wipe it away.

He furrowed his brow.  “Are you all right?”

She blinked rapidly.  “Yes.  I think I got an eyelash in my eye.”  She reached up to rub it.

“No!” he gasped as he reached out to draw her hand away.  “Don’t rub it!  Let me look.”

“What?” she eyed him doubtfully as he sat down on the edge of her desk.  Right next to her chair.

He bent over.  “Look at me.  I’m going to pull your eyelid away from your eye.  Hold still.”

She did as she was told.  Her heart racing at his unusual proximity.  He peered down into her eye. 

“Hmm.  I don’t see anything.  Maybe you got it already.”  He leaned back as his fingers dropped away from her face.

She bobbed her head.  “I’m fine.” 

Embarrassed, she glanced down, and her eyes found the poem once more.  “This scroll was left in my desk drawer.  Right here,” she muttered as she pulled out the drawer above her lap.  “I just can’t figure out why one of the boys would think he liked me.  I’ve barely spent any time with the boys.”

“I can understand why he would like you,” he murmured instantly, his voice a pleasing caress that shocked her.  Her eyes flew to meet his. 

“What?” she breathed in shock.

“You are immensely likeable, Ni Na,” he smiled sweetly down at her.

She stared up at him as her heart began to pound.  She remained silent.  Unable to speak.  She had no idea what to say.

“This is interesting,” he opined as his eyes found her poem again.

“Why?” she asked, her tongue suddenly loosed by his unexpected assessment.

“Because I received one too.”

“What?” she quizzed him, surprised.

He nodded.  “Hold on a moment.”

He wandered back into his classroom.  Only to return a minute later with a matching parchment.  He set it down next to hers and examined the characters. 

Now it was her turn to recite his poem aloud.  Her gentle voice enveloped him with its sweetness.

“You do make my heart sigh

Every time your eyes glance my way.

I really don’t know why.

I have no idea what to say.

“You do make my heart melt

Every time your fingers touch mine.

Oh, this is how I felt!

Your touch a soft taste of the divine.”

She giggled as she finished reading it.

“What’s so funny?”

She sighed.  “Why is my poem so much better than yours?  The boy is a better poet than the girl.”

He frowned.  “I don’t think so.  I think they’re both good.  And…I think the same person wrote them.”

“No.  Look, the meter of every line is the same in the poem that I was given.  Twelve beats per line.  But your poem alternates between six and an awkward nine.”

“But this is a beautiful poem.  Same as yours.  I do think it’s quite odd that we both received one on the same day.”

“So…you don’t think that a boy wrote mine, do you?”

He shook his head.  “In my experience, it is usually girls who are fascinated by poetry.”

“That’s not always true,” she pointed out logically.

“True.  But I’m betting the same person wrote us both a poem.  And look…the handwriting is the same.  See how she formed these characters?”

“Mmm.”  She nodded.  “You’re right.  It does appear to be a girl’s writing.  She wrote two poems.  One for you.  And one for me.  But…why?”

“I have no idea.  But look at this.  Both poems talk about the poet being entranced by the touch of the one loved.  I haven’t really touched any of the kids.  And I definitely haven’t touched any of the girls.”

“Hmm.  And I haven’t touched any of the boys.”

“So I don’t think that the sentiments are those of the author.”

She frowned up at him.  “Then whose sentiments is the poet expressing?”

Other than mine.

He shook his head as his eyes seemed to stroke her gently.  “Perhaps one of our students is simply practicing write love poems and wanted both of our opinions.”

She glanced back down at both scrolls.  “But she didn’t write her name anywhere.  So how are we to provide her with feedback?”

“I have no idea,” he murmured.  Still lost in her gaze.

She stared in bewilderment at him. 

They were getting worse.  Not better.  Her feelings for him. 

She had hoped that with the opening of the school, she would become so busy that she would forget him.  Or, at least, that her heart would hurt less in his presence.  But it wasn’t so.

Blinking back the agony that must be lingering in her eyes as she considered that he would never truly speak the sentiments penned in those poems to her, she leaned back and closed her eyes.  Hiding from him.

“What’s wrong, Ni Na?”  His voice was a simple breath.

“I’m just tired,” she lied.

“You have been working quite hard.  Perhaps too hard.  You need a day off.  So do I,” he sighed.  “Maybe we can take a day off tomorrow.”

Her eyes flew open.  “Then who will teach the children?”

He shrugged.  “We could give them a day off too.”

“Then who will watch them?”

“I have an army of servants here.  Surely, someone can be left in charge.  And the older children are accustomed to taking care of the younger ones anyway.  They don’t really need us.”

“What will I do with a whole day off?” she queried, at a loss.

He smiled.  “Spend it with me.”