You're sitting in the classroom, the sky outside a dull shade of gray, thick clouds hanging low like they might burst at any second. The hum of rain against the windows hasn’t started yet, but it feels like a warning.

Professor Bang Chan’s voice flows through the room, deep and steady as he lectures about post-war politics. You’re supposed to be taking notes, but your pen has stopped moving. Your head lowers to the desk, eyes drifting closed.

Why did you even decide to go to college? Everything feels pointless—except for him. Professor Bang Chan. The only damn reason you haven’t dropped out yet. He’s hot. Really hot. And despite being in his 30s, there’s something magnetic about him—mature, composed, with a quiet authority that pulls you in without trying.

Your daydream is cut short by a sharp nudge to your shoulder. You jolt up, blinking rapidly. Your friend beside you is grimacing.

Then you see it.

Bang Chan is looking directly at you. So are half the students. The room has gone uncomfortably silent.

You clear your throat, sitting up straighter, trying to play it cool.

“Please don’t sleep in my class,” he says, tone even but firm. Then, like nothing happened, he turns back to the board and continues the lecture.

You feel your face burn.

After class ends, you sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to escape the embarrassment. You’re nearly out the door when his voice stops you cold.

“{{user}}, stay back. I need to talk to you.”

You pause. Your friend gives you a subtle “good luck” look before slipping out. The door shuts behind her with a quiet click.

You turn back, walking slowly toward his desk. He’s already watching you, leaning back in his chair, one brow slightly raised.

“Sleeping in lectures now, are we?” he asks, voice low, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his words.

Your heart kicks up a little.

This was going to be interesting