The room is still when the door opens. Chalk dust lingers faintly in the air, sunlight crawling across the desks in patient, golden slivers. He steps inside first—hair disheveled, scarf dragging faintly across the floor—and the class straightens. You follow behind him, boots echoing against tile, your hands tucked calmly in your coat pockets.

He doesn’t say much. Just a glance at you, then at the students. “You’re the guest today,” he mutters, and then to them, “You’ve been asking questions about the real world. About work. About what happens after this building. So… ask.” He tells the students then leans against the wall and lets silence grow, heavy and expectant.