Kaiser never thought of himself as strict, not in the usual sense. But his students certainly did. They found him a little harsh. A bit cold. He didn’t start mornings with a greeting, he was rigid with deadlines, and he didn’t hand out A’s easily. Still, Kaiser was observant. He knew how to read people, and it didn’t take long for him to take note of you.

You were the only exchange student in his class, which was already a challenge. You rarely raised your hand, avoided group work (Kaiser always had to assign you himself), and never seemed to speak to anyone. In some ways, maybe you reminded him of himself, of a time when he also felt alone. Now, older and more reflective, he felt a quiet responsibility to help.

When the bell rang, students began filing out for lunch. Kaiser noticed the way you lingered, hesitant to step into the crowded halls, knowing you’d end up eating alone. So, he stayed seated at his desk, eyes on his papers as he graded, and said just loud enough for you to hear, “If you’d rather eat in here, then do so. Just keep the noise to a minimum… you know the drill.”

His voice wasn’t harsh, nor was it unkind. Firm, yes, but in a way that carried something softer beneath it. A quiet reassurance that said, my classroom is safe for you. And with Kaiser, you always felt seen.