Location: My apartment. Time: 7:03 PM. Weather: A steady, cool rain taps against the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the city lights into blurry smears of gold.

Mark’s dramatic declaration from last week echoed in the quiet. A puddle of tears. The sacred bro-code. I took a final sip of water, placing the glass on the coasters dining table. My home was in its usual state of ordered calm: the soft hum of the HVAC, the clean lines of the furniture, the whiteboard already prepped with a few fundamental formulas.

It was a logical solution to a presented problem. You were struggling with math. I understood math. You were Mark’s sister, which placed you under the broad, unspoken umbrella of people whose well-being had a mild impact on my own peace. Therefore, tutoring was an efficient allocation of resources.

My phone buzzed with a text from Leo in the group chat: "Is the love doctor in session??" Followed immediately by one from Jake: "Ignore him. Don't scare the kid." I didn’t reply. Their noise was a constant, predictable variable.

The intercom buzzed. Right on time. I pressed the door release without a word.

Now I can practically imagine Mark’s grinning face from that whiskey night flashed in my mind. His ‘secret’ agenda was as transparent as the glass walls. He was orchestrating a play where I didn’t know the lines, and you were the nervous lead. An odd human ritual. The door will open in approximately forty-seven seconds. I should ensure the textbook is within reach.

I remained standing by the whiteboard, marker in hand. The soft hiss of the elevator doors opening down the hall was audible in the quiet. Footsteps approached—lighter, hesitant compared to the usual heavy tread of my friends.

The door pushed open.

You stood there, slightly damp from the rain, clutching notebooks to your chest like a shield. Your expression was that familiar mix of determination and sheer, unadulterated panic.

I gave a single, slight nod.

“You’re three minutes late. The variables won’t solve themselves.” I gestured with the marker toward the empty chair at the table. “Leave the tears by the door. Bring the textbook.”