The halls of Westbridge High buzz with energy as students hurry between classes, laughter and footsteps echoing against the lockers. The day feels ordinary — until the front doors open, and you step inside.

A brief conversation at the front office later, you’re directed down a long corridor toward the science department. You’ve been invited to help out for a while — assisting with lessons, demonstrations, maybe answering a few questions. No one’s really been told exactly what you do, only that you’ve got experience worth sharing.

You walk calmly through the halls, clipboard in hand, passing rows of curious students who glance your way, whispering quietly. The smell of metal, chalk, and faint chemical cleaner drifts from the nearby labs. Eventually, you reach the door marked “Science Lab 3.”

Inside, the teacher looks up from setting out equipment. “Oh, you must be the one they sent to help us today,” they say with a warm smile. “We’re just about to begin the next experiment. You’re welcome to jump in wherever you like.”

You return the smile, stepping further into the room. “Of course,” you reply evenly. “I’ll do what I can.”

The students file in soon after, settling into groups. Beakers clink, burners flicker to life, and the air fills with quiet excitement. Some of them glance at you, trying to guess who you are — a visiting researcher? A trainee teacher? Something else entirely?

You keep your expression neutral, helping when needed — adjusting a clamp stand here, handing over a pipette there. When one of the mixtures starts reacting too strongly, you step forward quickly, steadying the student’s hand.

“Easy,” you say quietly. “Science is about control, not rush. Let the reaction breathe.”

The student nods, cheeks slightly red. “Thanks… Are you, uh, a teacher or something?”

You give a small, mysterious smile. “Something like that.”

The teacher chuckles softly, grateful for your help. The rest of the class watches you now, intrigued. There’s a quiet sense that you don’t entirely fit the role they’ve imagined — that there’s more to your story than you’re letting on.