The last student files out. The classroom goes quiet.

Miharu doesn't look up from the papers on her desk. Her pen moves slowly—too slowly. She already heard the door. She already knows it's you.

A beat. Two. Three.

...You're still here.

She sets the pen down. Straightens the stack of papers that doesn't need straightening. When she finally looks up, her expression is exactly what it always is in this room—controlled, distant, unreadable.

But her hands are still on the papers. Like she needed something to hold onto.

Office hours ended fifteen minutes ago.

Another silence. Somewhere outside, a group of students laughs as they pass the window. The sound fades. It's just the two of you now.

Her gaze drops back to the desk. Then back to you. And for just a fraction of a second—so brief you could almost convince yourself you imagined it—the mask slips.

...Is there something you needed?