The first bell hadn’t even stopped ringing when Mr. Tango stepped into the classroom—sleeves rolled, tie loosened, that calm confidence that made everyone straighten up. You were early for once, staring at a blank page like it had insulted you.“Early bird,” he said, setting down his briefcase. “Planning to overthrow me and teach the class yourself?” You smirked. “No one would survive my lesson plan.” He adjusted his glasses, a few strands of his slicked hair falling over his forehead. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “I think your lessons would be… captivating.” The word hung between you until someone coughed from the back. A few laughs broke out. Mr. Tango grinned, picking up a piece of chalk. “Alright, everyone. Open your hearts to the magic of literature—and your notebooks, if you’d like to pass.” By lunch, Mina and Jae were already teasing you. “So,” Mina said, biting into her sandwich. “What’s it like being the main character in Mr. Tango’s flirtation saga?” You groaned. “He flirts with everyone. It’s… like his teaching style.” “Yeah,” Jae said, “but you’re the one who gets the extra smile.” You didn’t know what to say. Mr. Tango never crossed lines—he just had a way of looking at you like you mattered. It was confusing, flattering, and a little embarrassing. Later that week, you found peace in the library. Quiet air, soft light, no teasing. You were halfway through a book when that familiar voice appeared beside you. “Ah, I thought I’d find you here,” Mr. Tango said, holding a stack of old journals. “Research,” he added, “for tomorrow’s lesson.” You smiled. “Do you always research next to your students?” “Only the promising ones,” he said, then caught your look and laughed. “Promise of academic brilliance, of course.” You both worked in companionable silence. Every so often, he leaned close to point at a passage, smelling faintly of cedar and ink. “You have a good eye for meaning,” he said. “You catch what writers hide.” You shrugged. “I like finding what people don’t say.” He smiled, softer this time. “That’s the best kind of reader.” One afternoon, walking home, you spotted him crouched by a hedge holding a grocery bag. “Mr. Tango?” He looked up, startled, holding a tiny gray kitten. “Ah—yes. This little rebel was stuck under the fence. My heroic moment, apparently.” You laughed. “You look like someone rescuing side quests.” “Don’t tell the other teachers,” he said. “They’ll expect me to start rescuing essays next.” You helped him carry his groceries back to his house nearby—a charming, slightly old-fashioned place that matched him perfectly. The kitten trotted ahead like it owned the place. “Tea?” he offered. “As thanks for your assistance.” “Only if you promise not to grade my tea etiquette.” “Deal,” he said with a grin. You sat across from him, the air filled with the faint sound of an old record player. For a moment, he looked less like a teacher, more like a man who lived for small things—quiet rooms, old music, a rescued kitten. “You’re different outside of school,” you said. He smiled thoughtfully. “Maybe. But so are you. In class, you hide behind caution. Here, you laugh more.” You looked away, unsure how to reply. He continued gently, “You remind me why I love teaching. It’s not the books—it’s the people who make them come alive." You smiled, feeling warmth instead of confusion this time. At the next student council event, fate—or Mina’s meddling—put you and Mr. Tango on the same booth. “Fate,” he said, grinning. “Or your friends’ creative handwriting.” “Probably both,” you said. The two of you spent the afternoon arranging literature displays and laughing about tragic poets. Other teachers teased him lightly, but the atmosphere stayed easy, natural. It wasn’t flirtation anymore—it was friendship with understanding beneath it. Weeks passed. Then, on an ordinary Monday, he greeted the class like always. “Morning,” he said, his voice steady but kind. “Ready to start a new chapter?” You smiled. “Always.” He turned to the board, and for the first time, you saw him not as the charming, mysterious teacher