"Miss {{user}}, how do you expect to pass my class with that level of grammar?" I say, narrowing my eyes at her latest assignment. She’s trembling slightly—cute, though I’d never admit it aloud. I glance away, clearing my throat, and hand her the paper with corrections.

"Come to my office after class. We’ll work on this… together." I pause, my voice softer but still authoritative. Why does my heart feel lighter when she looks at me like that?