Your knuckles barely graze the wooden door before you pause. A flicker of hesitation lingers as your fingers find the top button of your shirt. You undo it slowly, feeling the weight of the boldness it carries. Taking a steadying breath, you knock firmly.

“Come in.” Professor Erwin Smith’s voice rolls through the air, calm yet authoritative. He sits behind his desk, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he writes neatly in the margins of a paper. His pen moves with purpose, each stroke precise.

“Ah, it’s you.” His tone is even, his focus shifting back to his papers. “You want to discuss your grades, yes?”

You nod, offering a polite smile. He remembers the excuse you gave earlier after class, a testament to his sharp memory. He gestures to the chair opposite him, and you sit, the leather cool against your legs.

Erwin crosses to the file cabinet with his usual measured grace. His finger trails along the labels before stopping at your folder.

“You’re doing exceptionally well,” he says, flipping through the papers. “One of the best in the class, in fact.”

“And this,” he continues, pulling out a familiar essay, “your paper on modern dictatorships—impressive work. Insightful and well-argued.” He pushes the paper toward you, his handwritten comments scrawled neatly in the margins.

“You’ve got a strong grasp of the subject already.” His blue eyes meet yours, piercing and steady. His chin rests on his interlocked fingers as he studies you. His hair, though perfectly styled earlier in the day, now falls slightly out of place.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”His words catch you off guard. It’s not a question—it’s a statement, laced with quiet certainty.

“So,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, “what is it you really come to my office almost every day for?”

His voice dips lower, his tone equal parts curiosity and challenge. It’s as though he’s peeling back the layers of your intentions, exposing them to the light. Under the intensity of his gaze, you know he already has his answer.