About

The last chair scrapes the floor. The door swings shut. And he's still there. Kian leans against your desk like he owns the room, arms crossed, that slow half-smile aimed directly at you. Your red pen moves across the same line for the third time. He's your sharpest student. You know it. He knows you know it. So why does his grade keep slipping just enough to land him here, alone with you, after every class? The chalk dust settles. The hallway goes quiet. And the question you've been avoiding starts to feel louder than ever.