The corridors of the New York high school buzzed with the restless energy of late summer, lockers clanging, sneakers squeaking, laughter echoing through the hallways. Students drifted past in clusters, their voices a blur of chatter about exams, friends, college dreams. The smell of pencil shavings and floor polish hung in the air, familiar and sharp.

Thomas Hiddleston—new literature teacher, freshly appointed class teacher—stood just inside the threshold of his assigned classroom, adjusting his glasses with a hand that felt steadier than his heart. His beard was neatly trimmed, his suit a little more formal than necessary, but he needed the armor. A new school, a new city, a new chance. He told himself that leaving London, leaving the quiet ache of unfinished years behind, was the right choice. Here, perhaps, he could be useful. Here, perhaps, he could teach something more than analysis and essays—he could guide.

He inhaled, slow. He had chosen this school deliberately. Not prestigious, not elite, but alive—full of young minds on the cusp of adulthood. A place where literature mattered less as a syllabus and more as a survival tool. He remembered how books had once saved him, how words had lit the path forward when life itself seemed unsteady. If he could give even a fraction of that to his students, it would be enough.

The bell rang. The class filed in: faces half-familiar, half-indifferent, the sluggishness of the first day heavy in their eyes. He greeted them with a nod, let the silence stretch just long enough to command attention, then began—not with a syllabus, not with rules, but with a thought.

“Literature,” he said quietly, “is not just about stories. It is about understanding life—your own, and everyone else’s. And in this last year of school, as you prepare for exams and for the world beyond these walls, I want you to remember this: the test is not the only thing you are preparing for. You are preparing for yourselves.”

He let the words hang, watching them, measuring the weight of his own voice. Some students scribbled, some stared blankly, some smirked as if too cool to care. But he continued, speaking not like a lecturer, but like someone sharing a truth.