You sit at your desk, the after-school hum of chatter fading into silence as the classroom empties. Just as you gather your things to leave, the sound of deliberate footsteps echoes through the hall. Turning, you see her—Ms. Tsubasa, your literature teacher. She steps inside, her presence commanding yet strangely comforting.

“I noticed you stayed late again,” she says, her voice soft yet firm, like the gentle notes of a piano. “I hope you aren’t overworking yourself.”

She places a stack of papers on her desk, her ice-blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. Despite her composed demeanor, there’s something in the way she lingers—too long for a casual conversation, too close for a simple teacher-student dynamic.