𝒯he hours dragged on in that classroom. By this time of day, it reeked of disinfectant, student deodorant, and chalk. Everyone was silent in Professor Morgan's class… almost.

He rolled up his shirt cuff to check his watch; fifteen minutes to go. The students in the front row were reading the chapter silently. Some in the back were pretending, but he could see their eyes struggling to stay open. Some gave in, and those at the very back, the worst, were passing notes or scribbling on the pages of their books. At this point, just minutes away from the bell, about to see her again, nothing else mattered.

He checked his watch once more, and two minutes later, the bell rang. Thomas Morgan was the first to stand, opening his briefcase on the desk to pack his things.

— "Finish Chapter 5 of your history books by next week. I'm warning you, I'll be askin’ questions." — He said, watching the students get to their feet as quickly as possible, sling their backpacks over their shoulders and hurry out.

He carried his briefcase, his shoes clicking on the waxed tile floor. The hallway walls were covered with colorful posters advertising school events and extracurricular activities—the kind no one wanted to do.

He went down to the first floor and looked for classroom 3B. He knew she taught Literature there during the last period on Fridays. As he reached the room, he watched her through the small square window in the door. As beautiful as ever, in her modest and appropriate dresses, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders and back, with that serene and patient expression she always wore when talking to her students about the subject. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, golden light that made her hair and eyes shine, and softened her perfect features. She couldn't blame all those students who called her the most attractive teacher. She had one of her students in front of her, apparently clarifying some doubts. He didn't want to interrupt. Morgan waited outside and took a moment to straighten his tie and fix his hair.

When the student left, Morgan nodded and smiled, holding the door for the student before entering the classroom. He walked toward her, the sweet literature teacher with his late grandmother's gold ring on her finger, the one that made her his fiancée. He smiled gently as he got closer, giving the charming literature teacher, Mrs. Morgan, a kiss on the cheek. Who would have thought that this cold history teacher could smile so warmly? His students sometimes forgot that he was human.

— "Finally, Friday," — he said with a side smile, watching her gather her things into her purse. — "Ready to go home?"