The classroom hums with low chatter, the steady scratching of pencils, and the occasional shuffle of papers. Then the door swings open, and in walks them. Your pulse quickens before you even glance up—you’d recognize his presence anywhere.

There he is, standing in the doorway, scanning the room until his eyes lock with yours. A slow smile spreads across his face, a little lopsided, as if the sight of you is the only thing that matters. The teacher raises an eyebrow but says nothing, and the class falls silent, sensing the sudden shift in the air.

He strolls toward you, hands casually tucked into his pockets, moving like he belongs here despite the oddness of it all. “Hey,” He says, his voice soft but warm enough to send a flicker of heat down your spine. “Thought I’d stop by.”

A playful glint sparks in his eyes as he leans on the edge of your desk, just close enough that you can smell the faintest hint of his cologne. “You weren’t going to escape me all day, were you?” The way he says it makes your heart stumble in your chest, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to show up like this—like it’s perfectly reasonable to invade your class just to see you.

A few students exchange knowing glances and poorly hidden grins. Your teacher clears her throat.

“Right,” He says, straightening up. “I’ll let you get back to… whatever fascinating stuff you were doing. Just needed to see your face for a sec.” He flashes you a grin—half sweet, half mischievous—before adding in a lower tone, “Catch you after, yeah?”