ANNE'S POV
Anne's entrance into the classroom was anything but subtle. Rushing through the door, her chest heaving with the effort of her sprint from Green Gables, she barely had a moment to register the sea of faces before Mr. Phillips' stern voice anchored her to the spot. Without a chance to explain her tardiness, a consequence of an unfortunate but necessary task at home, she was sentenced to stand at the front of the class for the remainder of the day. A familiar flush of indignation rose within her, a fiery protest against the injustice of it all, yet she swallowed the ember of her anger, allowing no sign of it to rise to the surface.
As she took her place, standing as a silent reproof to the concept of punctuality, Anne's eyes inadvertently scanned the room. That's when she saw him—a new boy, someone she hadn't noticed before. Her initial irritation faded, replaced by a sudden and intense curiosity. He was... remarkable. His hair, tousled in a way that seemed both accidental and artfully done, lent him an air of roguish charm. But it was his eyes that truly caught her—a deep, captivating blue, thoughtful and focused, as if seeing beyond the mundane world around him.
Anne couldn't help but study his face, its shape perfect in a manner that seemed sculpted, his appearance effortlessly casual yet meticulously kept. A part of her whispered, daringly, that he was more handsome than Gilbert Blythe. No, he was the most handsome boy she had ever seen. The thought startled her, causing a mental recoil. She admonished herself silently. Since when did she care about such things? She had no interest in Gilbert, let alone this new boy, or any boy for that matter. What were these ridiculous thoughts swirling in her head?
Despite her internal scolding, Anne found her gaze drawn to him across the room, time and again. Who was he? Why did his presence stir such curiosity, such an inexplicable sense of... something within her? It was maddening, this pull, as if her soul recognized something in him that her mind refused to acknowledge.
There was a depth to his gaze, a kindred spirit, perhaps, that spoke of shared secrets and silent understandings. Anne felt a pang of something akin to connection, quickly suppressed under layers of confusion and self-reproach.
Anne's attention was sharply pulled back to the present as Mr. Phillips' voice, harsh and commanding, cut through her reverie.
"Mr. Thomas Rockport, since you seem so entranced by anything but my lesson, perhaps you'd like to demonstrate the solution to this equation," he said, pointing to a complex problem on the board.
Anne started at the mention of a name—so, the new boy was named Thomas. His name rolled around her mind, a new piece of the puzzle that was this intriguing stranger.
As Thomas stood and made his way to the front of the classroom, Anne couldn't help but notice the effortless confidence in his stride, a silent assurance in each step, yet his footsteps were remarkably soft, almost stealthy. She felt a sudden stiffness in her own posture, an awkward awareness of his proximity as he stopped just a few feet away at the chalkboard. Her gaze was drawn to him, despite her efforts to remain detached, her eyes flicking to his face, trying to decipher the blank expression he wore.
Then, unexpectedly, Anne realised he was looking at her. She felt a jolt of surprise, her reaction unguarded, her eyes widening in the moment. It was as though an electric current passed through her. She could see a subtle change in Thomas's demeanor as he turned back to the task at hand, his focus now sharpened, as if their brief connection had somehow grounded him.
Anne watched, almost against her will, as Thomas methodically worked through the equation on the board. There was a grace in his movements, a precise and thoughtful deliberation in each line he drew. When he finally stepped back, the problem solved, Anne couldn't contain a small smile as some of the students broke into applause and cheers, a rare break in the monotony of Mr. Phillips' classroom. Her joy was short-lived, however, as the teacher quickly restored order with a stern look.
As Thomas made his way back to his seat, their eyes met once more. Anne, acting on impulse, offered him a quick smile, a silent gesture of camaraderie, before immediately chastising herself for the foolishness of it all. She forced her gaze to the floor, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
The lesson finally came to an end, but Anne's relief was dampened by the knowledge that she was not yet free to leave. As Thomas approached Mr. Phillips' desk, and she tried to voice her own question, the teacher's rude interjection cut her deep, igniting a fresh wave of anger within her. She fought back tears, her pride refusing to let them fall.
The conversation between Thomas and Mr. Phillips became a distant blur, Anne's mind too consumed by her own turbulent emotions. Yet, when Thomas was dismissed, their eyes met one final time. His look was apologetic, conveying a wordless understanding of her predicament. As he left the classroom, Anne felt an unexpected pang of loneliness, watching the only person who had, even momentarily, shared in her punishment walk away.
Left alone with Mr. Phillips' scolding voice filling the room, Anne felt the weight of the day press down upon her. Yet, amidst the turmoil, the curiosity about the new boy lingered. She realised, with a mixture of surprise and reluctance, that she hoped to see him again, to unravel the mystery of the new boy who had unexpectedly stirred such complex emotions within her.