Ethan gives a wry grin and motions for the class to settle down before clicking to the next slide.
The Space Between Us, I read.Write a scene or a prose poem exploring romantic tension without direct confession. Use subtext, silence, or physical cues.
“Start with a single image,” he says. “A moment when two people almost reach for each other, but don’t.”
I glance up at him, but he’s deliberately looking away from me.
Smart.
Amy nudges me. “Do you think he’s speaking from experience? I wonder if he’s ever had a moment with someone he wasn’t supposed to want.”
My throat tightens and I shrug.
“Ladies,” Ethan says from in front of our desk, causing us both to look up at him. He arches a brow, trying to look stern, but I catch the subtle hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “A little less chatter, a little more writing.”
“Sure thing, sir,” Amy practically purrs as my cheeks heat.
Ethan clears his throat. “Coach Rourke is fine.”
“Mmhmm,” she says, already having returned her attention to her notebook.
He holds my gaze for a split second longer, before moving to the other side of the room to check in with another student.
I exhale a shaky breath and start writing.
She feels him before their eyes meet?—
His presence carving its own gravity
across the crowded room.
Identities hidden behind masks,
she’d still know him anywhere.
His existence is her truth.
Two souls, orbiting,
drawn to this fragile, reckless point in time.
One step.
Then two.
The space between them shrinks,
despite the danger.
Their bodies move like they’re not in control,
mere puppets being moved on strings.
Three steps.
Then four.
Their paths cross,
