The Muse by Empress Calalang

    It was just a normal Wednesday morning. The aircon was in its usual state—buzzing like a bee. Every yawn embraced the four corners of the room; students were like living dead from the tasks they were given last time. Click! The door opened as it killed the deafening silence. A familiar aura succumbed the whole space as this muse walked by the table. This muse was our student teacher.

 "Was he the one they were talking about?" I whispered to myself, feeling a rush of curiosity. As the discussion unfolded, his questions danced through the room like shadows flickering on a wall. It felt like an electrifying scene from a film, where only the lecturer and the audience were caught in an intense verbal ballet. My competitive spirit ignited, my mind raced t

o answer his STEM-like queries, driven by a fiery need to prove myself. Was I really striving to show my worth, or was I simply longing to be the focal point of his penetrating gaze?

 "Anong name mo?" he asked, amazed. I felt a playful smile on my lips while gazing on his deep brown eyes from four seats afar. I really caught his attention, who would not be? But little did I know as the time goes by, it was me who got caught by his carbon-full of stares and glances—it was full of life.

    His dangling eyes are the main reason why I feel electrified. It always shocked me and I could not move my body. Only my almond-shaped eyes follow as he walks with his typical aura—the context is out of this world just like his personality. Disregarding the noise that deafens us and the crowd that bewildered us, I wasn't lost at all—he found me. Again and again.

    Never in my life have I thought that someone will stare at me deep down to my soul. I thought that it only happened in the movies I watch and the books I read, but no. While I yap about the things that piques my interest, he pays attention as his stares are like the vast blue oceans—it is drowning, and his waves are tempting to surf on; he actively listened like my voice is his favorite song to hear repeatedly every morning, and his cheeky smile that complements his scrumptious ruddy lips with a mole on its upper portion, making me feel heard and seen.

    Our hearts could be playful sometimes—it does not choose as it unconsciously beats like thousands of running horses; an indescribable euphoria that no one could ever explain. Each of us harbors a muse, a mythical beast awakening dormant passions and fueling our creative fires. My muse continues to be the igniting flame that lights this life's greatest enemy—myself.