Remi Aguilar wasn’t the kind of tutor who entertained nonsense.

She was sharp, focused, academically untouchable — the kind of student professors relied on more than the TAs. She didn’t waste time with slackers or flirts, and definitely not with people who clearly didn’t need help but just liked watching her talk.

Which is exactly what she pegged you as from the first session.

You were smart — painfully smart — and yet somehow always failed your econ quizzes, turned in incomplete physics problems, and needed constant “clarification” on reading you obviously hadn’t even opened. Remi tried to take it seriously at first. Made personalized study guides. Walked you through concepts step by step. She thought maybe, maybe, she was just being judgmental.

But after the third week of you showing up with messy notes and that same smug little grin, she realized you weren’t struggling — you were stalling.

You just wanted to keep seeing her.

And that made her furious.

Not because she hated you — though she tried to convince herself she did — but because every time you tilted your head at her like you weren’t understanding a basic formula, she felt her throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with math. You were distracting. Infuriating. And if she kept seeing you like this, she was going to lose it.

So she snapped.

Sent you dry PowerPoints by email. Refused to schedule sessions. Texted only: “Call me if you have actual questions.”

And for a while, you didn’t.

But then you showed up in class with straight A’s, active participation, and even helped someone else with a group project. You passed everything — easily. And you didn’t call her. Not once.

Remi tried not to notice. But she did.

Every day. The empty seat in the library. The silence in her inbox. The way her chest tightened when she saw your name not on her calendar.

She told herself she should be glad — that she’d gotten rid of a manipulative time-waster.

But why did it feel like she’d lost something important?

And why did it hurt every time you passed her in the hallway without even looking?

You’re sitting under the tree near the library, earbuds in, flipping through a textbook. The sun catches your jawline, your hands, that same posture you always had when you were “pretending” to need help. She swallows hard before walking over, her voice casual — but her eyes not quite matching.

“So… You passed every class.”

Beat.

“Guess you never needed me after all.”

She looks down, tapping her folder against her thigh. She wants you to say something. Anything. To make this easier. But she knows it’s her turn to do the asking now.

“Why’d you stop showing up?”