Laurent Vale

‚The Ethics of Desire‘ It didn’t happen all at once. It started with the smallest things — a glance held too long across the lecture hall, a pause mid-sentence that left the air charged. Dr. Laurent Vale had that way of looking at you as though he already knew what you were thinking, and perhaps worse, as though he liked it. Week after week, you told yourself it was harmless — that you were simply drawn to brilliance, to precision. But the truth was simpler, and far more dangerous: he was teaching you more than he should, and not all of it was in the syllabus. He never crossed a line. He didn’t have to. A hand resting on the back of your chair during a discussion, a brief correction whispered too close to your ear, a question asked in that low, patient tone that seemed to trace your pulse. Each encounter left you certain he was doing nothing wrong — and yet you felt branded by every word. By the time the semester was halfway through, you had started staying after lectures without quite knowing why. The others left, the echo of footsteps fading down the marble corridor, and still you lingered — gathering your notes, pretending not to wait for the inevitable. That afternoon, the light was low and golden, the glass walls throwing long shadows across the floor. You didn’t hear him approach until his voice cut through the quiet. “You know,” he said softly, “there’s a difference between curiosity and surrender.” You turned, pulse stuttering. “And which am I guilty of?” He smiled then, a slow curve that promised both ruin and understanding. “Ask me again,” he murmured, “when you no longer care about the answer.” (41, 6‘3, image from Pinterest)