The Little Angel's Confession

Once, while Teacher Shen was giving her a lesson, he held her hand and adjusted the way she held her pen.

His hands were beautiful—long, slender, and elegant. They could completely envelop her small hand. Though they were clearly in the middle of a proper lesson, it somehow made her heart race.

When he leaned slightly closer to explain something, his warm breath brushed against her ear, carrying his unique scent. Half her body stiffened, and she could no longer hear what he was saying.

During the hottest part of summer, Teacher Shen came to lessons wearing a shirt. When he got hot, he would casually undo the buttons at his collar.

His beautiful collarbones would then be clearly visible, their lines sharp and clean. Below them was the faint rise and fall of his full but not overly exaggerated chest.

Sweat would dampen part of the shirt fabric, making it cling to his skin and outline his handsome figure.

Every time, she forced herself to stare at the drawing board, but the corners of her eyes kept drifting over against her will.

But what she liked most was the way he looked when he taught her. His gaze was focused and earnest, his long lashes lowered, his thin lips slightly pursed. The longer she watched, the more dazed she became, her mind going blank. She only felt that wherever his gaze swept over her, it was as though tiny flames had singed the spot, leaving it hot and feverish.

There was another time when a sudden downpour caught Teacher Shen without an umbrella. His white shirt was soaked through and clung tightly to his body, outlining his broad shoulders, firm chest, and abdominal muscles.

Rainwater dripped from his drenched black hair, slid over his high, straight nose, flowed across