Locked In

What Are We?

The lecture hall had emptied in waves—first the chatterboxes, then the procrastinators gathering their bags in slow motion. Now, silence stretched across the wooden rows, broken only by the shuffle of papers at the front desk.

Jingjing stacked her notes in neat squares, aligning every corner until the pile was perfect. That was how she worked: crisp, controlled, untouchable.

Ploy, meanwhile, slung her blazer over one shoulder and tossed her water bottle into her tote with a clatter. Careless. Confident. The lawyer's version of a shrug.

"Not bad for a room full of undergrads," Ploy said, leaning against the podium with an easy grin. "Didn't think they'd survive thirty minutes on contract law."

"They didn't," Jingjing replied, eyes still fixed on her notes. "Half of them were on TikTok. I saw."

Ploy's laugh rang out—unapologetic, warm, irritatingly contagious. Jingjing pressed her lips tighter, determined not to let it get under her skin.

Then came the metallic clunk.

Both women turned toward the rear doors. The sound was unmistakable: the double doors locking from the outside.

Jingjing crossed the hall quickly, tugging at the handle. It didn't budge. Her stomach sank. "You've got to be kidding me."

Ploy strolled over, entirely too amused. She gave the door a shake, then tilted her head. "Well, Professor, looks like we're stuck. Alone. Together."

Jingjing exhaled sharply. "This is not funny."

"Oh, it's hilarious." Ploy slid down the doorframe, sitting on the bottom step as though this were a casual coffee break. "Don't tell me Miss Perfect hasn't ever been locked in a room before?"

"Not with you."

"Exactly my point."

Minutes crawled by. Jingjing paced the front row, heels clicking in precise rhythm. Ploy watched her openly, chin propped on her palm. The longer the silence stretched, the more Jingjing felt heat rise under her collar.

Finally, Ploy broke it. "You're wound so tight I'm surprised you don't squeak when you walk."

Jingjing froze. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Always so serious, so... sharp. It's fascinating." Her smile curved, softening her words. "But it makes me want to see what happens when you finally let go."

Jingjing's heart stuttered. She wanted to dismiss it with a cutting remark, but the weight of Ploy's gaze pinned her. The kind of look that said: I see you. And I dare you.

"Let go?" Jingjing repeated, voice thinner than she liked.

"Yes." Ploy rose to her feet, slow and deliberate, until they stood just a breath apart. "For once, stop controlling the room. Let someone else have the floor."

Jingjing's pulse hammered in her throat. She should have stepped back. Should have drawn a line. Instead, she stayed perfectly still as Ploy's hand brushed her sleeve, fingers trailing down to the cuff.

"Don't—" Jingjing started, but the word cracked halfway.

"Don't what?" Ploy whispered, leaning closer.

Jingjing's breath caught. And then—without thinking, without permission from her ever-calculating mind—she closed the distance.

The kiss was brief, shocking, electric.

When they broke apart, both stared, chest rising and falling fast. Ploy's smirk had shifted into something softer, genuine. "See? Not so terrifying."

Jingjing pressed trembling fingers to her lips, torn between outrage and laughter. Finally, she managed: "If you tell anyone about this, I'll fail your niece."

Ploy chuckled, stepping back just as the heavy doors at the back swung open. The janitor poked his head in, surprised.

"Oh—didn't know anyone was still here."

Jingjing grabbed her bag at lightning speed, cheeks burning. Ploy only grinned wider, eyes glittering with triumph.

As they walked out together, Ploy leaned close and murmured, "Next time, Professor, let's get locked in on purpose."

Jingjing refused to answer. But the corner of her mouth betrayed her, curving up despite herself.

Jingjing walked quickly down the hall, her heels a sharp rhythm against the polished floor. She hoped the sound drowned out the chaos in her head—the taste of Ploy still on her lips, the way her chest refused to settle.

Ploy, naturally, strolled after her like they had all the time in the world. "So... about what just happened."

"There's nothing to talk about." Jingjing's tone was flat, professor-cold.

"Funny," Ploy said, falling into step beside her. "Because it felt like something to me."

Jingjing stopped dead, turning on her. "You think this is a game?"

Ploy's smile faltered just enough to show a flash of sincerity. "No. I think it's the first real thing we've ever let slip between us."

That cut deeper than Jingjing expected. She hated how much truth rang in it. For years, they'd circled each other across faculty mixers, conferences, whispered rivalries—two women too alike and too stubborn to admit it.

"Don't," Jingjing warned, though her voice lacked bite. "Don't make this into more than it is."

Ploy tilted her head, studying her. "Then tell me it meant nothing."

Jingjing opened her mouth... and found she couldn't.

The silence stretched again, heavier now.

Finally, she forced her legs to move, brushing past Ploy toward the exit. "Good night, Counselor."

But when she reached her car, fingers trembling as she slid the key into the ignition, she caught sight of Ploy in the rearview mirror—leaning against the building steps, arms crossed, watching her drive away with a look that promised this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.