Between The Lines

Low Key

Isla – POV

I spent the entire day trying not to look suspicious. Which, of course, made me look very suspicious.

Tess didn't help.

"You're glowing," she accused over FaceTime, sipping her wine like it was a courtroom cross-examination. "This has nothing to do with Kotoni Staggs texting you, right?"

"I'm not glowing," I said firmly, dragging a red pen across a half-finished essay.

"You are. You're literally blushing through the screen. Where's he taking you?"

"Tess—"

"Oh my God, you're going on a date. You're actually going on a date with him."

I hung up before she could start planning the wedding.

At school, the students weren't any better. A few side-eyes. A whispered, "Miss Staggs, period two," followed by an eruption of giggles. I shut it down with my sharpest teacher glare, but inside, nerves buzzed like static.

By the time I changed out of my teacher dress and into jeans and a soft blouse, I felt like I was carrying a neon sign above my head: Out with Kotoni. Definitely not low-key.

Kotoni – POV

Keeping it quiet was impossible.

Ezra spotted the grin on my face during gym. "Book Girl," he said knowingly. "You're seeing her tonight, aren't you?"

Patty shook his head. "Keep it under wraps, bro. Media will eat it alive if they sniff this."

Jordan smirked. "Good luck staying low-key. You're literally Kotoni Staggs."

I ignored them, scrolling through restaurant options until I landed on something simple. Not flashy. Just dinner. Somewhere she wouldn't feel like she'd stepped onto a red carpet.

And when I sent her the details, she just replied:

Isla: Low key. Or it's detention.

God, she was perfect.

Isla – POV

The restaurant was tucked into a quiet corner of West End, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, tables close enough to murmur but not eavesdrop. Casual. Safe.

He was already there when I walked in, maroon polo swapped for a plain black shirt. And if my pulse jumped at the sight of him—well, no one needed to know.

"You made it," he said, standing to pull out my chair like some sort of gentleman.

"Don't sound so surprised," I teased, sliding into the seat. "I grade essays for a living. I know commitment."

His laugh was warm, real, and when he leaned forward across the table, it felt like the rest of the room faded.

We talked. About books I promised he'd never read. About footy he promised wasn't his whole life. About how impossible it was to keep anything private in this city.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like Miss Bennett, the teacher with rules and essays and a schedule. I just felt like Isla.

And maybe, sitting there with him smiling at me like I was the only person in the world, that was enough.