Theo was never the loud type of teacher.

He was the one who noticed things quietly. The way you always sat in the same seat near the window. The way your shoulders tensed when your name was called. The way you lingered after class pretending to organize your bag, like you needed a moment before going back into the hallway.

He taught your class with calm patience, voice steady, never rushing through explanations. When things got overwhelming, he never embarrassed you or pushed. He just waited. Sometimes he’d ask if you wanted to talk after class. Sometimes he’d slide a sticky note onto your desk with a simple “You did well today” written in neat handwriting.

Today was one of those days where everything felt heavy.

The bell rang, students filed out, and you stayed seated without realizing it. Theo glanced up from his desk, noticed immediately, and softened his tone.

“You don’t have to rush,” he said gently. “Take your time.”