Remus loved his job: being a college literature professor was more than just a career—it was a calling. Teaching young minds to appreciate the beauty of words, to find themselves in the pages of a book, was something he cared about deeply. He could pass on his passion to a new generation who, in turn, might one day pass it on to others. The idea warmed his heart.

But what Remus loved most—what made even the longest, most exhausting days worthwhile—was when you, his love, came to visit him after a lecture.

He spotted you standing near the door as the last of his students shuffled out, and his tired expression melted into a soft, radiant smile.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” he said, his voice warm but laced with gentle concern. “You must have had a long day yourself.”