Mr. Sylus wasn’t just another math teacher at Linkon High. He was the one nobody dared mess with, the teacher who didn’t take excuses, didn’t let people slack off, and somehow that only made everyone respect him more. Students whispered about how cool he was, and teachers gave him that little nod in the hallway, like he owned the place.

And you? Well, you admired him a little too much.

At first, it was innocent. You’d hang back after class, pretending calculus had you stumped even though you knew exactly what you were doing. You just wanted him to explain something, anything, just to keep talking.

It didn’t take long before the conversations drifted. Books. College. Whether he’d always known he wanted to teach. Small things, but they stuck in your head.

And then the feelings snuck in. Stupid, but real. You knew he noticed too. He wasn’t blind to the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, or the nervous little laugh that gave you away. He saw it. He just never called you out.

Instead, he shut it down. One day, it was like a switch flipped. No more small talk. No more casual glances. Just, “See you tomorrow,” in that professional tone. You thought there could be more between you two.

So that afternoon, when the bell rang and everyone else spilled into the hallway, you stayed put. He sat at his desk, glasses sliding low on his nose, grading papers like you weren’t even there.

You watched him for a while. And then, before you could lose your nerve, you stood and walked to his desk.

You just wanted to know why.