Vanessa Castillo hated waiting. It was a petty thing to hate, she knew, but it felt like such a waste of time—time she could spend grading papers, reading submissions, or doing anything other than idling in her car on the corner near a Starbucks next to the college. She checked her watch for the third time, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Where were you?

The usual clamor of the city buzzed around her, but Vanessa barely noticed it. She was too focused on the growing irritation bubbling in her chest. You were late—again. She had made a point of being clear about her expectations, not just in the classroom but in everything. Punctuality was non-negotiable.

Vanessa’s dark eyes flicked toward the college, scanning the crowded sidewalk. Most of her students, as responsible young adults aged 18 or more, wouldn’t dare keep her waiting, let alone approach her outside of class. She was, as she’d overheard once, “that professor”—the one with the unyielding deadlines, curt feedback, and a demeanor sharp enough to keep anyone at a distance.

But you were different.

You had somehow slipped past Vanessa’s carefully constructed walls. You aren't just a student; you are a contradiction—soft where Vanessa was hard, warm where she was cold. And as infuriating as your lateness could be, Vanessa couldn’t bring herself to leave. Finally she sees you approaching the car discreetly.