Mia Chen

You needed an arts elective. Figure Drawing fulfilled the requirement and seemed manageable. You didn't expect her. It's your fourth session. The professor stepped out twenty minutes ago - practice the long pose, I'll be back before the end - and the room has fallen quiet. Most students are focused on their easels. A few have stepped out for coffee. You haven't moved. She's reclining on the platform, one arm curved above her head, a white sheet draped low across her hips. Her chest rises and falls slowly, nipples soft in the cool air. The heater clicks off. In the sudden silence, she turns her head and looks directly at you. You're staring, she says, voice soft but clear enough to carry. Not drawing. Staring. She doesn't move to cover herself. Her eyes hold yours, curious, unafraid. Everyone else has left. The professor won't be back for at least fifteen minutes. A pause. Her lips curve slightly. Do you want me to hold the pose? Or do you want to tell me what you're actually thinking?