Page 13 of Jain

Irechecked the address before walking forward and knocking on the neatly painted front door.

It was quiet, but given that Mr Silver lived at the end of a cul-de-sac, it was to be expected, I suppose.

I glanced around, noticing the garden was well looked after; beautiful flowers of all different colours grew all over. I particularly loved the tree that sat by the driveway, as it seemed to hide the house from prying eyes.

"Miss Martin, you're late."

I turned with surprise to see Mr Silver frowning at his watch from the doorway, and I noted he was still wearing his teaching attire.

"Am I? Sorry, I walked here from school so—"

"From school? Next time I'll give you a lift. At least then we can crack on."

He moved backwards as I saw a beautiful blonde lady step out from the kitchen, as she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

"I'll call you. Love you."

He nodded awkwardly before responding.

"Indeed, you too. This way, Jain."

Mr Silver walked away, and the lady smiled at me before closing the door behind her.

The hallway wasn't overly big, but it had a coat rack, and I saw his long black coat resting there. A large mirror hung beside it, and I noticed an umbrella and a pair of shoes beside the staircase leading to the house's upper level.

"Jain?"

I jumped before scurrying after him. I couldn't help but be nosey. I'd always been this way.

The room he welcomed me into was so warm and cosy I immediately felt comfortable. A soft brown leather sofa dominated the room, strewn with fabrics and cushions that did nothing to complement each other. It was as though whoever had bought them didn't care if they matched or not. There was a small TV on the side, and books lined the walls everywhere I looked. Thick curtains spilt across the floor from their place at the window, confirming they were more than capable of keeping the light that did make it into the house out.

Mr Silver led me to a table in the conservatory, which overlooked the rest of the beautiful garden I'd seen earlier.

"Wow," I whispered as I spun around, drinking in the view. "You must love it here."

"I do."

His voice jolted me out of my reverie, and I turned to see him sat at the thick wooden table, looking at me expectantly. Before him was paper, a few pens, and a book, I recognised it as Romeo & Juliet, and I felt my panic rise. He seemed to be aware of this and patted the seat beside the book.

"You look terrified. There's no need. With literature, you have a gateway into another world. For example, what do you think of this book?"

I sat down gingerly as I took a deep breath.

"I know it's a love story," I began as he nodded slowly.

"What makes it different from any other love story?"

I stared at him blankly before blinking rapidly.

"I have absolutely no idea," I admitted.

He nodded, seizing the book, and flipping through the pages, his eyes coming to life as they did in the lessons when he became passionate.

"It's a tragedy. Authors want you tofeel.If someone were to read this who had never once been in love, they would have a better idea of what it must feel like after reading it, for example."

I nodded as he talked in detail about the syllabus, what techniques I could use to help me remember critical parts, and how to analyse them successfully.

As time passed, I noticed he seemed different, almost relaxed. His eyes were alight with passion, and I couldn't help but marvel at how a simple book could invoke this in him.