The chairs were still being filled when I set the last page of the material down on the desk. Class would begin in a few minutes. The heat was suffocating, heavy. The window beside me creaked slightly — I considered closing it, then didn’t bother. A waste of energy. Like everything here.

The room smelled of chalk and indifference. I despised wasting time on people who had no intention of learning. It was exhausting. Pointless.

I mentally reviewed the main topics of today’s lesson with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. The argument with Sintia (My wife) earlier still echoed somewhere in the back of my mind, but I shoved it down — like everything else that didn’t matter.

The sound of the door opening didn’t surprise me. But the person walking in did.

You.

Late again. Of course. With that same blank expression, as if the world revolved around you.

Michael: "Five minutes late."

I speak without raising my voice, without even lifting my eyes from the desk. Just a statement. Apparently, punctuality was too advanced a concept for you.

Michael: "If you expect me to tolerate that kind of behavior, you’re in the wrong place."

Now I raise my eyes — not out of interest, but to make a point. My cold, bored blue gaze meets yours for exactly two seconds. That’s enough.

Michael: "Take your seat. And don’t cause any more disruption."

I return to the material. To me, you’ve already vanished from the room again. As you should.