Page 5 of Johan.

The shelf rattles slightly, the books on it trembling with every thrust. The risk of discovery grows, and the threat of being caught adds fuel to our desire. There’s something exhilarating about defying fate and expectations. In a few days’ time, everything we’re doing could seem impossible, but here and now, it feels like nothing can hold us back.

Our movements become more synchronized, each thrust and moan in perfect harmony, building to an inevitable crescendo. Her nails dig into my shoulders, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, urging me on. The room around us fades into oblivion, and all that exists is the two of us, locked in this passionate dance.

“Gosh, Johan, don’t stop.” Her eyes are shut, her lips parted to breathe, and all I can do is comply.

I feel the tension within me coil tighter and tighter, an exquisite pressure that demands release. Hannah's breath hitches, her body arching against mine, and I know she's close, too. The intensity of the moment is almost overwhelming, a maelstrom of sensations and emotions crashing over us.

“Hannah, fuck,” I groan against her neck.

The confinement of the shelf behind her, the walls around us—they all seem to conspire, holding us in this stolen slice of time where nothing else matters but the feel of her against me, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the soft moans that escape her lips and fill the hushed room with the sound of our indiscretion.

With a final, shuddering thrust, I lose myself completely, a wave of ecstasy washing through me as I find my release. Hannah’s body quivers against me, her own climax mirroring mine, and for a brief, blissful moment, we are one. I stay inside her a bit more, enjoying her warmth.

As the last tremors subside, I collapse against her, spent but utterly content. Our breaths mingle, ragged and satisfied, as we come down from the heights of our passion. The world slowly comes back into focus, the reality of our surroundingsreasserting itself, but for now, all that matters is the warmth of her embrace and the knowledge that, for this moment at least, we have found something truly special.

Here in the Manuscripts Room, among whispers of the past, we write our own story, one driven by raw emotions and a connection that refuses to be ignored or denied.

As we finally break apart, gasping for air, the reality of our actions begins to seep in. But the look in Hannah’s eyes, fierce and unapologetic, tells me she doesn’t regret it.

Neither do I.

For now, the world outside can wait. In this room, at this moment, we have claimed something back for ourselves, and that is worth every risk, every potential fallout. It's a reminder of who we are at our core—passionate, undeterred, and irrepressibly drawn to each other, no matter the circumstances.

4

Hannah

Back in my dorm room,I sit on the edge of my bed, feeling the quiet envelop me. It’s overwhelming after the charged atmosphere of the Manuscripts Room, where every thrust and kiss with Johan left me breathless. Now, alone, the weight of reality sinks in. Johan is engaged to Astrid, and despite knowing the circumstances behind that engagement, I can’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, a third wheel in their narrative. Then, there’s the realization that he came inside me and that I’m not on birth control. I had intended on getting on the pill after our weekend in Portmeirion, but since he broke up with me a few days later, I hadn’t bothered with it. I make a mental note to take another Plan B, my lack of proper planning bothering me more than I’d like to admit. I promise myself that I’ll see a doctor tomorrow and get everything in order.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I stare out the window, lost in thought. The warmth of Johan’s lips lingers, reminding me of the connection we share, but it's tangled with guilt and uncertainty. Was having sex with him a mistake? He’s stillbound to someone else, and no matter the justifications, it complicates everything.

My eyes drift to a photograph of me and Oma Margaret on my desk. She might understand, maybe even help. She knows about Amelia’s secret, Johan’s, and my crush on him, and perhaps she could offer guidance or even a solution to navigate this mess with Ludovic.

With a sense of resolve, I decide to call her tomorrow after class. It’s not just about getting advice; it's about drawing on the family strength that only she can offer. She might know how to deal with Ludovic and how to protect both Johan and myself from the fallout of his manipulations.

As I prepare for bed, the day’s revelations and the remnants of Johan’s touch swirl in my mind. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Oma Margaret. Maybe together, we can figure out a way to counter Ludovic’s plans and secure a future where Johan and I aren't pawns in someone else’s game. I know the road ahead will be tough, but with my grandmother's wisdom and the truth on our side, maybe we stand a chance. Lying down, I close my eyes, the memory of Johan’s embrace still vivid, a bittersweet comfort as I drift toward sleep.

This morning, as I sit in the front of the classroom, every minute drags, stretched thin by anticipation and nerves. The room is dimly lit, the walls lined with old portraits that seem to watch us from the past, adding to the gravitas of the history we're here to study. As the class patiently waits for our teacher to arrive, I notice an unusual flurry of excitement among some students. I glance around, seeing a sea of particularly well-groomed female students, their hair more polished, makeup impeccable, andthey chat in hushed, eager tones. Some adjust their scarves; others check their reflections on their phones, and a realization starts to dawn on me, unsettling yet unmistakable.

The door swings open, and Johan steps into the lecture hall. He’s every bit the academic ideal, wearing a tailored shirt that highlights his athletic build, and his hair, usually a bit unruly, styled neatly. He moves with an effortless grace to the podium, his briefcase in hand. As he sets up his notes and glances around the room with a smile, the atmosphere tightens slightly with anticipation.

“Good morning, everyone,” he begins, his voice resonating with a clarity that captures the room's attention instantly. “Today, we’ll delve into the fascinating world of Gothic architecture, a style that not only transformed Europe's skyline but also its cultural identity.” He brings the projector to life, displaying images of towering cathedrals with intricate designs. “Let’s discuss the key elements of Gothic architecture," he continues, pointing towards the images of pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and flying buttresses. “These architectural innovations were not just aesthetic but had significant structural and symbolic purposes.”

Johan then asks the class a question that digs deeper into the implications of these architectural marvels: “Can anyone tell me why these elements were revolutionary at the time? What did they signify socially and politically?”

I know the answer. But now, in the full light of day and in front of the entire class, I hesitate. The answer sticks in my throat, tangled up with memories of his touch. A hand shoots up from the second row—a girl with keen eyes and an eager expression—and for some stupid reason, a pang of jealousy washes over me when Johan nods at her.

“These elements allowed for higher walls and larger windows in the cathedrals, which meant more light could enter thesespaces,” she explains confidently. “This not only symbolized a reach towards the divine, but also demonstrated the power and wealth of the cities that built them. It was both a religious and a political statement.”

“Excellent, Miss,” Johan acknowledges with a nod, his eyes lighting up with appreciation for her insight.

The class murmurs in agreement, and he uses this momentum to further engage them, weaving her points into a broader discussion on the socio-political climate of medieval Europe. I force myself to focus on his words rather than the sinking feeling in my stomach. Johan talks about the historical contexts that gave rise to such designs, his passion for the subject evident in his animated explanations, and the lively way his eyes scan the room, engaging with his students.

I sit there, somewhat dazed, feeling a mixture of jealousy and a renewed sense of secrecy about our clandestine encounter. The realization that I’m not the only one drawn to Johan's charisma and looks adds a complex layer to my feelings. As he continues with the lecture, I find myself wrestling with this new awareness, balancing my personal feelings against the visible admiration he commands from others. This complicates the already tangled emotions brewing within me, making the wait for our next private moment all the more intense and fraught with conflict.

As he wraps up the class, he leaves us with one last thought-provoking question. “For next time, I want you to consider how architecture serves as a canvas for a society's values. What does the shift from Romanesque to Gothic tell us about the changing priorities of the medieval world?”

The bell rings, signaling the end of the lecture, but the conversation buzzes on, students clustering in small groups to debate Johan's last point. As they file out, still discussing spiritedly, I linger behind under the pretense of gathering mybooks. The room empties slowly, and soon, it’s just Johan and me. He’s packing up his notes, and I seize the moment.

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