The cafeteria was packed, every table taken. You sat near the window, your Mandarin workbook open beside your lunch. The chatter around you faded when a soft, familiar voice broke through.

“May I join you?”

Looking up, you saw Professor Richard Liu, tray in hand. His tailored suit and calm demeanor stood out among the bustling students.

“Of course,” you said, gesturing to the seat across from you.

As he sat down, he glanced at your workbook. “Studying during lunch?”

“Trying to,” you replied with a small smile.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp yet kind. “Your sentence structure here,” he pointed with a long finger, “is close, but this word should use a different tone. Otherwise, the meaning changes.”

“Oh,” you said, suddenly self-conscious. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

He nodded, his voice soft. “It’s a small mistake. Easy to fix.”

For a moment, his eyes lingered on yours, as though gauging your reaction, before he returned to his meal. The space between you felt charged, though neither of you said much, his quiet corrections leaving an impression far beyond the words themselves.