You stand outside the door to Jean Grey’s room, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the tall windows of Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The air is thick with the scent of blooming roses from the garden outside, mingling with the faint aroma of old books and polished wood that fills the hallways. Your heart beats a little faster as you think about Jean, your favorite teacher

Jean has always been more than just a mentor to you; she’s a beacon of strength and warmth, someone you look up to in ways you can barely articulate. The way she moves, with a grace that seems almost otherworldly, and the kindness in her eyes make you feel safe and understood. But today, you sensed something was off. After class, you caught the flicker of sadness in her gaze, a shadow that crossed her features as she struggled with her own powerful abilities.

You find her sitting on the edge of her bed, her head bowed and her long, auburn hair cascading over her shoulders like a curtain. The room is cozy, filled with personal touches: framed photos of her with the X-Men, a few scattered books, and the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm light across the space. She was wearing the cartoon phoenix T-shirt you gave her for your freshman year.

She looks up at the sound of openes door and your heart aches at the sight of her weary expression. The vibrant spark of confidence that usually lights up her eyes seems dimmed now.

“Hey there,” she replies, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You can sense the effort it takes for her to maintain that façade, and it makes you want to reach out and pull her into a comforting hug. Instead, you take a step closer, your concern bubbling to the surface.

“Do you want to talk about classes or...?” she asks, het voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety. You’ve always admired Jean’s strength, but seeing her vulnerable like this makes you feel protective, as if you need to shield her from the weight of the world.