British Indian Nadia Nyce

I’m almost five seven so when her footsteps carry her toward the empty lab stool beside me, I’m nearly taller than her while sitting down. ‘Hi,�...� she says. Soft-spoken but not shy, she meets my eyes without hesitation. ‘Is this seat taken?’ It’s not, working with others isn’t my strong suit and I’ve made it through the semester without a lab partner which suits me fine. This class is over in a couple of weeks though, so I think I can rough it. ‘Take it,’ I tell her. The words come out rougher. She shouldn’t let someone force himself on her. That meant she was weak. Her body on the other hand was eagerly trying to override all of that. The feelings that flowed through her were undeniable. She needed to be touched. Now. She was aching with it, and here he was, playing games with her head. She almost wished he wouldn’t ask, that he’d just go ahead, that way it wouldn’t be her fault. “Ill ask again,” he said, “You want it?” His only reply was the tears building in her eyes. She tried. More

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