The school board’s month-long event wasn’t simple. Each teacher and student pair had been given a series of challenges, from puzzles to presentations, and every week brought something new. The next one, however, was the most intimidating yet: a debate.

And not just any debate, psychology.

It made sense. Mr. David taught the subject, so naturally their assigned challenge fell into his field. But to her, the stack of notes spread across his office desk looked impossible. “This is all top tier,” she whispered under her breath, frustration rising. “Not even what our class is learning.”

Hours of reading had left her head pounding, every theory heavier than the last. At some point, her hands began to shake, and tears slipped down before she could stop them.

Mr. David had been at the whiteboard in his office, explaining concepts in his usual steady tone. But when he turned and caught sight of her lowered head and trembling shoulders, his marker paused. He didn’t speak. Not yet.

Instead, he moved to her side, pulling a chair beside her. His presence was calm, not smothering. He set his notes down, leaning slightly forward, one arm resting on the back of her chair. His hand brushed lightly at her shoulder, his fingers moving in a slow, steady rhythm, grounding, not holding.

“Look here,” he said quietly, sliding one of the open pages toward her. “Forget the rest for now. Just this part. One step at a time.”