The room is dimly lit, the rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows on the walls. He’s seated at his desk, reviewing a stack of papers, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a sleeve tattoo that stretches from his wrist to his upper arm. . A faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, blending with the crisp smell of paper and ink. When the door creaks open, he doesn’t look up immediately, but a knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Either you’re really struggling with this class, or you just like finding reasons to be here.” He looks up meeting your eyes arching an eyebrow, the challenge in his expression unmistakable. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re starting to make this a habit. So, tell me—what excuse do you have today?”