Chapter Twenty Five

[A/N] This chapter is identical to the previous one, but presented from the professor's point of view.

Not much happens in this chapter because certain events need to take place before I can provide an in-depth perspective from her.

Prof. Montgomery's POV

Tuesday;

I love my job. I really do. But sometimes, the students make me want to either throw a stapler at them or just flat-out quit. Honestly, there's a limit to the level of incompetence I can tolerate in a day.

Sighing, I turned off the ignition of my car, the engine's hum fading into silence. I grabbed my handbag from the passenger seat and stepped out. The air was crisp, and the morning sun barely cut through the grayness of my mood. Today wasn't shaping up to be any different. It was just another day of babysitting people who could hardly string two coherent thoughts together, let alone understand complex theories.

I walked across campus toward my office, my heels clicking against the pavement. It's Tuesday, which means I'm stuck with Ms. Wilson—or whatever her surname is—for most of the day. Lucky me. Just thinking about her antics was enough to make me want to go home and pour myself a strong drink.

I couldn't help but scoff as I remembered her bruised face. She looked like she'd gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxer. It was hard not to laugh when she walked into my office with that expression—half embarrassed, half in pain. How does someone manage to run into a pole and look that pitiful afterward?

Clumsiness seems to be her default setting. Falling down the stairs on her first day, nearly breaking the equipment in the laboratory, and now running headfirst into a pole? Honestly, I wonder how she even manages to get out of bed without injuring herself. It's almost impressive, the sheer level of chaos she brings with her.

I unlocked my office door, the old handle clicking as it gave way, and pushed it open, deciding to leave it ajar for once. The corridor outside was already bustling with students, their hurried footsteps and half-whispered conversations echoing in the distance. I stepped inside, the familiar scent of old books and polished wood greeting me. With a sigh, I tossed my handbag to the floor beside my desk and sank into my chair, its leather creaking under my weight.

The office was small but orderly, the kind of space where everything had a place, and I expected it to stay there. Papers were neatly stacked in trays, reference books lined up along the shelves, and a lone potted plant sat on the windowsill, desperately clinging to life despite my inability to water it consistently.

I glanced at my schedule, two lectures today—manageable. However, I couldn't enjoy the comfort of working in my office. My computer, for the umpteenth time, had decided to act up again. Technology is supposed to make life easier, I thought bitterly, not drive you to the edge of insanity. The technician promised he'd come by and fix it today. He had better succeed because the last time he "fixed" it, the issues came back within a few days.

I drummed my fingers on the desk, an edge of irritation already creeping into my mind. I had no patience for incompetence—especially when it disrupted my work. If you're terrible at your job, why continue with it? I thought, shaking my head. The last encounter with the technician had been infuriating; his dismissive attitude and half-baked excuses still made my blood boil.

I grabbed a stack of sticky notes from the edge of my desk, the bright yellow squares crinkling slightly under my grip. With a sigh, I began scribbling a note—more out of frustration than necessity—when the unmistakable sound of footsteps approached my office.

"Morning, Professor!" Ms. Wilson's voice rang out, cheerful and bright, though there was a subtle tremor of nerves beneath it. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It's far too early for this level of enthusiasm.

I looked up, my eyes meeting hers for a brief, uncomfortable moment before shifting to the coffee she held out towards me. The cup was still steaming, the dark liquid swirling under the plastic lid. I took it from her without much thought, placing it carelessly on the edge of my desk.

"Hmm," I hummed in acknowledgment, not quite looking at her as my gaze drifted back to my sticky note. "Thank you."

She stood there for a moment, and I felt her watching me, likely expecting some grand gesture of appreciation. Instead, I continued writing, the pen scratching against the paper. The note was direct and definitely not professional—I had written that I'd shove the malfunctioning computer up the technician's ass if it wasn't fixed properly this time. Graphic, yes, but I had work to do, and I was tired of having my time wasted by incompetence.

Ms. Wilson settled into her chair, pulling her laptop out and placing it on the table in front of her. I watched with mild amusement, knowing she'd soon realize her setup was for nothing. I could've told her from the start that we wouldn't be working here today, but where was the fun in that?

Without a word, I rose from my seat, my fingers gliding across the spines of books on my shelf until I found the ones I needed. The weight of the volumes was familiar as I pulled them down, my arm muscles flexing slightly. With a swift motion, I grabbed my handbag from beside the desk and glanced at her, my expression expectant.

"Grab that book and follow me," I instructed curtly, already making my way towards the door, not bothering to check if she had understood or had any questions.

She scrambled to put her laptop back in her bag, her movements rushed as she slung the strap over her shoulder. I paused by the door, tapping my foot against the hard floor impatiently. How long is this going to take?

Just as she finally made her way towards me, her eyes flicked to the coffee she had bought me, still sitting untouched on my desk. For a moment, she looked like she was debating whether to leave it behind.

"Can you hurry up?" I said, my voice clipped and growing more irritated by the second. "I have a lecture in a few minutes."

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel, the sound of my shoes echoing off the hallway walls as I walked briskly towards the library. I could hear her footsteps scrambling to keep pace behind me, and a small smirk tugged at my lips. She'd better get used to keeping up.

The quiet atmosphere of the library enveloped us as we entered, the subtle scent of aged paper hanging in the air. Just behind me, I heard Ms. Wilson whisper, her voice barely above a murmur, "What're we doing here?"

I kept my eyes forward, scanning the vacant desks spread throughout the room. "We'll be working here today," I replied curtly, striding purposefully through the aisles. Despite the library being nearly empty, I wanted the perfect spot—one that kept us as far from any potential interruptions as possible.

I moved past rows of desks until I found a secluded corner near the back of the library. The shadows gathered a little more here, giving the place a sense of privacy. I dropped the books I carried with a dull thud, the sound cutting through the otherwise silent room, and took a seat. Ms. Wilson followed suit, placing the coffee she had brought me near my books, her eyes lingering on me as if expecting something—perhaps a nod of appreciation or even a comment. But I ignored it. I had already thanked her once, and that was enough.

The book pages rustled gently as I began to flip through them, the crisp sound filling the space between us. My eyes skimmed over the text, already considering the material I'd need for today's work. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her setting her coffee and the book I instructed her to bring on the table opposite me. I paused for a second, irritation bubbling in my chest. Was she really planning to sit here with me?

My gaze narrowed as I turned my attention fully toward her, the words practically forming before they reached my lips. There was no way I'd tolerate her presence at the same table—especially not when all I wanted was quiet and focus without her constant fidgeting.

My brows furrowed as I stared at her, irritation clear in my voice, "What are you doing?"

Ms. Wilson hesitated, her eyes wide, as if trying to understand my sudden disapproval. "Uh, sitting down?" she replied, her confusion evident, her voice soft.

"Not here, you're not." I shook my head dismissively, watching as her shoulders drooped.

The library was a place of peace and quiet. Allowing her to sit here would shatter that peace. If she thought this meant I wanted her here, she'd start assuming she could be more than just an assistant, and I wasn't interested in dealing with that.

"Excuse me?" she blinked at me, her confusion only growing.

"You're excused," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, leaning back in my chair. "I don't want to look at that bruised face of yours. Go sit at another table—preferably one where I don't have to see you." I made a vague, dismissive gesture with my hand, my focus already drifting back to the book before me.

I watched, unimpressed, as she stood there, her mouth opening and closing like a stunned Venus flytrap. Was she really this slow to understand an instruction? Just as I was about to snap at her to move along, she drew in a shaky breath, her eyes meeting mine with an unexpected glimmer of defiance.

"You... you are one of the rudest people I have ever met." Her voice trembled, but she held her ground.

My gaze sharpened, and I lifted my eyes to meet hers, narrowing them slightly. "How hard could it possibly be to be nice, even if it's just for five minutes?" she pressed on, her frustration showing as her brows furrowed.

I leaned back in my chair, unable to suppress the smirk that tugged at my lips. Well, well, it seemed Ms. Wilson had a bit of a backbone after all. This was going to be entertaining.

Slowly, I clasped my hands together, resting them against my lap, crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed posture. My eyes never left hers, taking in every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.

"Oh?" I mocked, my tone dripping with amusement. "Please, do continue." I gestured with my hand, urging her to say more, the smirk widening. This was better than any entertainment I could have asked for.

I watched as all the confidence drained from her, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her own words had become too heavy to bear. She opened her mouth to say something more, but no sound came out, her gaze dropping to the floor.

That's what I thought—don't start something you can't finish. With a defeated shake of her head, she raised her hands as if surrendering, then turned and walked away without another word. I followed her retreat with my eyes, a smirk playing on my lips before I refocused on the pages in front of me.

I have to admit, though, there was something intriguing about the fire she had shown, however brief. In all my years, no student had ever dared to stand up to me, and yet here she was—this girl, trying to challenge me. It was clumsy, unrefined, but she had spirit.

She could use some work on her mean streak, learn how to deliver those sharp remarks with precision rather than just raw emotion, but for what it's worth, she was doing a damn good job. There was something refreshing about it—a spark of life in the monotonous routine of my day.

A challenge. It's been a long time since I've had one of those. I wonder... just how far could I push her before she breaks?

I glanced at the time on my phone and let out a soft sigh. It was nearly time for my lecture. With a resigned exhale, I stood up, grabbing my handbag and the one book I needed, and walked out of the library. I left the rest of my books scattered on the table—I'd be back in an hour anyway, no point in packing them all up.

As I stepped into the hallway, my phone started ringing, vibrating gently in my hand. I glanced at the caller ID and answered with a familiar ease, "Morning, Mother," I greeted, my voice softened slightly. "Is everything alright?"

A soft chuckle came from the other end of the line. "Just because I called, doesn't mean something's wrong. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Yeah, I'm doing fine," I said, weaving through the hallway as students moved around me in a steady stream. "Listen, I have a lecture in a few minutes. I'll come by later today, and we can talk. Sounds good?"

There was a brief pause before my mother sighed softly. "Alright," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mother," I replied, my tone gentle as I ended the call.

There are only a handful of people I truly love in my life—people I'd do absolutely anything for. My mother is, of course, one of them. I'd go to the ends of the earth for her, but that doesn't mean she doesn't push my buttons sometimes, driving me to the edge of my patience.

Take, for example, the time she practically forced me to hire Ms. Wilson as my teaching assistant. I was livid—furious beyond words. The idea of having someone else constantly underfoot was the last thing I wanted. But, I have to admit, as much as it pains me, it wasn't the worst decision. Ms. Wilson is surprisingly competent, and she follows my instructions well. In fact, I rather enjoy having someone who doesn't question my orders, someone who just gets things done.

Not that I'd ever tell my mother she was right. I'd sooner take the secret to the grave than give her that satisfaction. She'd never let me forget it. The smugness in her voice, the incessant teasing—no, I absolutely refuse to admit that I was wrong. It's a rare occurrence anyway, and I intend to keep it that way.

I strode into the lecture hall, and as I expected, a heavy silence fell over the room. The shift in atmosphere was immediate—tension replaced idle chatter, and even the rustle of papers ceased. I relished this silence. The apprehension in the air told me they were afraid, and fear was a great motivator. It ensured they did their reading, completed their assignments, and—most importantly—took me seriously.

Setting my handbag on the desk, I turned to face the first-year students, my eyes scanning the rows. Some of them lowered their gazes to avoid eye contact, while others stared straight ahead, their faces carefully neutral. It was almost amusing to see the shift from relaxed to rigid the moment I entered. Good. A little fear keeps them in line.

Without saying a word, I retrieved a stack of papers from my bag—today's quiz, just like every other day. I moved down the aisles, placing the sheets on each desk. The students sat still, waiting for the signal, their faces showing everything from nervousness to resigned acceptance. They knew the routine by now, fifteen minutes to finish, and the clock started ticking as soon as I returned to my desk.

Once I had distributed the last paper, I returned to my desk, taking my seat. The moment I sat down, a flurry of motion followed—papers were turned over, pens started moving, and the frantic scribbling of answers filled the room.

As I sat at my desk, watching the students scribble furiously, my thoughts wandered back to Ms. Wilson. Was I too harsh on her? The way she always looks like she's on the verge of tears... Maybe I push her too far. Then again, she has started to snap back at me recently, which is interesting.

The first time she spoke up, I was genuinely surprised—completely taken aback by the sudden spark of defiance. But now? Now, I find myself almost looking forward to it. It's amusing, refreshing even, to see someone with enough nerve to talk back.

My mother's words echoed in my head, urging me to be kinder to Ms. Wilson, to let her in, to see the good in her. But when have I ever truly listened to my mother? Her insistence that Ms. Wilson was worth my time didn't exactly align with my own instincts.

Still, sometimes guilt nags at me, especially when I catch Ms. Wilson making an effort to be decent, to keep up that sunny disposition even when I'm making it difficult for her. You know what? Maybe I'll try to be nicer—just for a minute, at least.

Fifteen minutes passed, and I stood up from my chair, my footsteps echoing slightly as I moved to the front row of desks. "Pens down," I commanded, my voice leaving no room for disobedience. I began collecting the quizzes, the students' anxious expressions almost palpable as they reluctantly placed their pens aside.

Once I had gathered all the papers, I walked back to my desk, sliding the stack into my handbag. Ms. Wilson can handle grading them tomorrow—one of the perks of having an assistant, after all.

Turning my focus back to the students, I flipped open the book on the podium, glancing over the material as I prepared to begin today's lecture. First-year students were, in my opinion, the most tedious to teach. Their cluelessness irritated me. They had no idea what they were doing—no grasp on the subject, no concept of managing their time, no understanding of the expectations. It was almost maddening, the way they floundered around, wide-eyed and oblivious.

I let out a small sigh as I scanned the room, taking in their nervous gazes and awkward postures. No matter how many times I stood here, the frustrations remained the same. First-years were always the slowest to adapt, and that fact never failed to test my patience.

After that excruciating lecture, I dismissed the students with a curt nod. A few of them offered polite goodbyes as they walked past, but I paid them no mind, my gaze distant as I stacked the lecture notes.

The moment the last student filtered out of the room, I dropped down into the chair behind the desk, letting out a long, heavy sigh. The day had barely started, yet I already felt the weariness creeping into my bones, the familiar urge to just call it quits and go home.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to get up, arranging my materials and ensuring the desk looked presentable for the next professor. My movements were mechanical, my mind drifting as I tidied up, and finally, I walked out of the lecture hall, the door clicking shut behind me.

Making my way to the library, I sought out Ms. Wilson, the sound of my heels echoing against the tile as I moved between the rows of tables. Spotting her, I approached, her head buried in her laptop, fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.

I paused right behind her, resting one hand on my hip and placing the other lightly on the back of her chair. "How many pages do you have left?" I asked, my voice slicing through the silence. I watched with amusement as she jumped, her shoulders jolting, head whipping around to meet my gaze.

There was silence for a few seconds, and I found myself waiting, tapping my fingers lightly against the back of her chair. Is she going to answer or just sit there, staring? I could feel the urge to snap rising, but then I remembered my promise—to try to be nice.

"Well?" I asked, arching a brow, my voice measured, though the impatience was hard to mask.

Ms. Wilson blinked, clearly caught off guard by my sudden presence. "Oh, uhm, yeah, been doing good," she stammered, a nervous chuckle slipping out, and I felt my eye twitch in irritation.

Is she serious? I'm attempting to be civil, and she's making it almost impossible. So much for being nice.

"That's not what I asked," I muttered, my patience wearing thin, each word clipped and sharp.

She blinked again, confusion clouding her expression. It took everything in me not to let my frustration boil over. "How many pages do you have left?" I repeated slowly, enunciating each word as though I was addressing a child.

Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh!" she exclaimed, laughing awkwardly, "About fifteen."

Fifteen? It doesn't take that long to make a lesson plan. Why is she working so slowly? I bit back a sigh, my expression carefully blank. I simply nodded before turning on my heel, walking away to my own table without another word.

It had only been a few minutes since I settled into my seat at my usual corner table, the warm lamplight casting a faint glow over my textbooks, when I noticed her walk in—the friend of Ms. Wilson. I couldn't quite recall her name, and honestly, I had no interest in finding out.

She was the girl who constantly disrupted my lectures, the one who had no concept of self-restraint. Her loud, obnoxious burps echoed through the classroom, always followed by that ridiculous cackling laugh. Sure, everyone burps, but did she really need to do it as though she were announcing her presence to the entire campus? Each time she did, it was like I could almost see the green stink lines drifting through the room. I could only imagine the stench that must have lingered afterward.

I narrowed my eyes as I watched them—Ms. Wilson and her friend—huddled together, sharing an absurdly large slice of pizza. Seriously? Were they really doing this again, right here in the library, of all places? They clearly hadn't learned their lesson from last time.

I still savored the memory of it, the look of sheer disbelief on Ms. Wilson's face as I marched up to their table, picked up their precious coffee and cake, and unceremoniously dropped it in the trash. The sight of her gaping at me, completely stunned, had been the absolute highlight of my day.

They devoured that pizza slice like two guilty children, their eyes darting around to see if anyone was watching. Each bite was rushed, their mouths working quickly, as though they were on a countdown to finish it before someone caught them. Once the pizza was gone, they relaxed back into their chairs, their whispers turning into full-blown conversation, their voices a constant murmur that grated on my nerves.

I didn't know why it bothered me so much—maybe it was their audacity, or the complete disregard for the rules—but I felt an urge rising in me to put an end to their chit-chat. I wanted to focus on my work, to mind my own business and stay seated, but their laughter pulled me out of my resolve, each chuckle breaking my concentration like a needle stabbing into a balloon.

With a huff, I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor with a sharp screech that made heads turn. I strode toward them, feeling the annoyance bubbling beneath my skin, heating my face. As I approached, I heard the last part of their conversation,

"...and demanded some answers." Her friend finished with a smirk, and Ms. Wilson let out a snort of laughter.

I cleared my throat, loudly. Ms. Wilson's shoulders tensed immediately, her back going rigid as she recognized the sound. Her eyes widened as she looked up at me, and I didn't bother hiding the irritation on my face.

"Are you done?" I asked, my finger tapping impatiently on my hip, the rhythmic sound echoing my frustration.

Her friend slowly turned toward me, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Nah, Valentina was just about to take a break," she said, pushing back her chair and standing up, her movements deliberate. She brushed off imaginary crumbs from her shirt, her eyes never leaving mine, as if challenging me to say more.

My gaze shifted, narrowing as it settled on Ms. Wilson, my eyes scrutinizing her face. Her expression was a mix of surprise and discomfort, her lips parting slightly, as if searching for words. I tilted my head, my mouth curving into a half-smile, something that lacked any warmth.

"Is she now?" I asked, my voice dripping with condescension. I watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard. "I figured she'd already taken a break while sharing that pizza with you."

The color rushed to her cheeks, her face flushing a deep pink. She couldn't hold my gaze, her eyes dropping almost immediately to the empty pizza box beside her, as if hoping it might vanish under the weight of her embarrassment.

The tension between us hung thick in the air, broken only by her friend's amused voice. "Guess it's my cue to leave," she said, the casualness in her tone in stark contrast to the atmosphere. She slung her bag over her shoulder, her smile not faltering. Before turning away, she threw a quick, reassuring wink at Ms. Wilson.

With a final nod to Ms. Wilson, she pivoted, her movements smooth and confident. "Catch you later, Val," she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing through the otherwise quiet library as she walked toward the exit, leaving me standing there, eyes still on Ms. Wilson, whose gaze remained fixed on her friend.

She slowly turned her head in my direction, her eyes widening slightly as she realized I was still standing there, arms folded across my chest, my stare unwavering. Her discomfort was almost palpable, and I reveled in it.

"Well?" I prompted, letting the word hang in the air for a beat too long, my gaze shifting pointedly to her laptop. The screen showed a half-completed lesson plan, the cursor blinking idly, a reminder of her neglected task. "Since you're apparently so refreshed from your little... intermission, perhaps we can get back to actual work."

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she nodded. Her spine straightened, and she quickly adjusted her position in the chair, her fingers hovering briefly over the keys before clattering into motion. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, her gaze determined to avoid mine, as if the act of typing might erase the embarrassment that colored her cheeks.

Satisfied, I watched her for another moment, the tapping of her keys the only sound between us, before turning on my heel and walking back to my table.

Valentina.

I rolled the name over in my mind, almost tasting it. Either it was the first time I'd actually heard it, or I had never bothered to pay attention when someone called her by her name.

I have to admit, it fit her. She looked like a Valentina—something about the name held a hint of elegance, a poise that she was clearly struggling to embody at the moment. It suited her in a way that almost made me curious, though not enough to soften my irritation.

✿

It was just before two in the afternoon, and I found myself still seated in the same spot I had settled into after returning from my last lecture. The library was quiet, the soft rustling of pages and occasional clicking of keyboards blending into a gentle background hum. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting dappled patterns across the wooden floor and the spines of well-worn books.

My phone began vibrating on the table, the buzzing breaking through the stillness. I glanced at the screen, the caller ID flashing with a familiar name, 'Mother.'

With a sigh, I grabbed my phone and quickly rose to my feet, making my way out of the library, weaving through the tables and stepping into the hallway before answering, just in time to avoid the call going to voicemail. "Mother, is everything alright?" I asked, my brows knitting together in worry, my voice low as it echoed slightly in the empty corridor.

I had told her this morning that I'd stop by after work so we could talk, but now she was calling me again, which left a pang of unease.

"Johanna, I told you to stop worrying," she scolded lightly, her tone holding a trace of amusement. I could almost picture the slight smile on her lips as she spoke. "I just wanted to talk now. I'm feeling tired, and I'll probably be asleep by the time you come down to visit."

"Ah," I replied, nodding instinctively, though she couldn't see me. Leaning against the wall, I shifted my weight, feeling the cool surface at my back. "Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes, I wanted to talk about that sweet TA of yours," she said, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a flicker of irritation passing through me.

"I know you rolled your eyes," she scoffed, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and fondness. "Be nice to that sweet woman."

"I am nice to her," I protested, sighing dramatically, my head tilting back against the wall. The empty hallway seemed to amplify the sound, and I could almost hear the disbelief on her end.

"You're not," she shot back without hesitation, her words filled with the knowing certainty only a mother could muster.

Okay, I admit it. I'm definitely not nice to Valentina. Why should I be? Being rude is practically second nature to me now, etched into my personality like a permanent scar. It's who I am—sharp edges and a cold demeanor.

I can't bring myself to be nice to her. I don't play favorites, nor do I make exceptions. I hate every one of them equally, each student a source of irritation in their own way. Besides, I have a reputation to uphold.

If even one student sees me being kind to her, they might think they have a chance to approach me, to strike up a conversation and form some kind of rapport. That's the absolute last thing I want—to be seen as approachable, to be pulled into small talk and the trivialities of their lives. No, it's far better to keep my distance, to maintain that icy, untouchable front.

"Johanna?" My mother's voice cut through my thoughts, dragging me back to reality. Her tone held a hint of concern, a reminder that she knew me too well. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, Mother," I sighed, my free hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose, attempting to ease the tension building there.

"Good," she replied, her voice softening, the weariness apparent even through the phone. "I'm going to rest now. Be nice to Val, for once in your life."

I opened my mouth to argue, to protest, but before I could say anything, the line clicked, and the call ended. I stared at my phone for a moment, her words echoing in my mind, the empty hallway feeling even quieter now that the conversation was over.

I am in desperate need of a cigarette. The thought of it, the familiar burn in my lungs, the way the smoke curls in the air—it's like an itch beneath my skin that I can't quite scratch. I love my cigarettes, but I had made a promise to myself, no smoking on campus. A promise I sometimes deeply regret.

Like right now. The urge is clawing at me, but the amount of work I have piling up keeps me rooted in place. There's no time for even a quick smoke break. With a loud sigh, I pushed myself away from the wall, the cool surface no longer a comfort, and turned back towards the library. The corridor felt endless, the muffled sounds of distant chatter and footsteps barely registering as I moved.

As I entered the library, I spotted her almost immediately—Ms. Wilson, hunched over her laptop, the screen bathing her face in a cold, blue light. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, her gaze focused, though fatigue was written plainly across her features.

"Ms. Wilson," I called out, my voice slicing through the quiet murmur of the library. She flinched slightly before turning her head toward me, her eyes widening in surprise.

I stopped beside her chair, looking down at her with an expression that conveyed no patience. "Are you done?" I asked, my tone flat, expecting her to be finished already.

"Almost," she replied, stifling a yawn with her hand, though some of it escaped. Her eyes blinked heavily, the exhaustion evident. "Probably less than ten slides to go."

I gave a curt nod, my lips pressing into a thin line. Without a word, I leaned down, reaching for her laptop. She blinked in confusion but didn't protest as I pulled the screen towards me. My eyes narrowed as I clicked through the presentation, each slide passing by in a flurry of text and images.

The work was competent, if not impressive. I could see the effort she had put in, the notes meticulously aligned, the information clear. Still, I felt no inclination to praise her for it. I simply scrolled through, my gaze analytical, while she waited in silence beside me, her eyes flickering between the screen and my face, searching for any sign of approval that would never come.

I was about to walk away without another word, leaving her to her work, but my mother's voice echoed persistently in my mind. Be nice to Val, for once in your life.

I wasn't used to being nice, the very idea felt foreign, like an ill-fitting coat that might suffocate me if I tried it on. What if being kind somehow diminished me? What if it chipped away at the sharp, unyielding armor I had so carefully built?

But maybe it wouldn't hurt—just this once. With an inward sigh, I finally glanced up at her. She was watching me with an anxious expression, her eyes flitting between my face and her laptop as if waiting for the next critique. The words tumbled from my mouth before I could overthink it. "Not bad," I said, almost casually. Her eyes widened, and I continued, "But I could do with fewer pictures in the slides."

I stood up straight, adjusting my posture, a slight sense of relief washing over me. Well, that wasn't so bad after all. I could almost hear my mother applauding, satisfied that I had taken her advice, however reluctantly.

As I glanced back at Ms. Wilson, I couldn't help but notice the shock on her face. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyebrows raised high.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, genuinely curious. The expression on her face was bewildering—like she'd just seen a ghost.

"I—well," she stammered, her voice a little unsteady, "I expected you to throw a rude comment my way." Her confusion was evident, her brows furrowed as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't fit.

And this is why I'm not nice. The thought burned through my mind, and I let out a sigh, my lips pressing into a thin line. I could feel the irritation bubbling up, overpowering any lingering sense of obligation to my mother.

"And I expected you to be done with the lesson plan by now," I snapped, my voice cold, any trace of civility vanishing. The brief moment of kindness had slipped through my fingers, and I made no attempt to catch it. "But I guess we both got surprised." With that, I turned sharply on my heel, my footsteps echoing across the library floor as I made my way back to my table, leaving her behind.

The second I sat down, I felt exhaustion settle over me like a heavy blanket. One attempt at kindness, and I was already tired of it. Did it feel nice, even for a moment? Not really. If anything, it felt hollow. Did what I said even count as kindness? I hadn't exactly praised her, but I hadn't torn her work apart either. It was a half-measure at best, and it left a sour taste in my mouth.

Minutes passed, and I let myself get lost in the book in front of me, the words blurring together in a comforting haze. The quiet of the library was soothing, a reprieve from the awkward encounter. I had just begun to relax when the unmistakable thud of someone dropping into the chair opposite me broke my focus.

I didn't need to lift my head to know who it was. Her presence carried a kind of anxious energy that was unmistakable.

"What do you want?" I asked, my tone flat, my eyes staying fixed on the pages of my book. I could hear her hesitate, the silence stretching between us like a drawn-out breath. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but carrying an edge of pride that was impossible to miss.

"I just wanted to say I finished the lesson plan," she said, and there was a note of accomplishment there, a sense of triumph. I could almost picture the look on her face—her eyes bright, her lips curved in a hopeful smile.

I looked up from my book, slowly resting my elbows on the table, my fingers interlocking as I studied her from behind my reading glasses. She sat there, her shoulders tense, her eyes holding a mix of pride and exhaustion.

"Did you email it to me?" I asked, my tone even. She nodded quickly, her tired expression softening, almost hopeful. I pressed my lips together, taking a moment to analyze her. She looked drained, her eyes slightly bloodshot, her posture sagging from fatigue. There was more work I could assign her, more tasks that demanded her attention, but for now, I decided to let her go.

"Well," I said, my voice breaking the silence between us, "I have nothing else for you to do, so feel free to leave."

Her eyes widened, and she released a breath she had been holding, a smile breaking across her face as if she couldn't believe her luck. "Oh, thank goodness," she exclaimed, her relief palpable as she practically leapt from the chair. She grabbed her bag, scoffing as she looked at me, her lips curving into a half-smile. "I can't be in the same room with you any longer."

Oh? My eyes narrowed slightly, and I tilted my head, studying her as she stood there, emboldened by the freedom I had given her. She was intriguing, far more than I had given her credit for. There was a spark in her, a defiance that peeked out from behind her usual demeanor.

"You're playing with fire, Ms. Wilson," I said slowly, my gaze traveling from her face to her posture, the way she held herself. There was a challenge there, one that made me pause. "Careful not to get burned."

I watched as her eyes widened slightly, the color rising in her cheeks. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen under my gaze, and I had to admit, there was something almost endearing about it. The vulnerability, the fleeting uncertainty—it was kind of cute. I shook away the thought, pushing it aside as quickly as it had come, forcing myself to focus.

"You can leave now," I said, waving my hand in a dismissive gesture, as if brushing away a stray thought. My tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

She clicked her tongue in irritation, her eyes narrowing briefly before she turned on her heel, her shoulders stiff. Without another word, she walked out of the library, her footsteps echoing in the quiet space. I kept my gaze on her, watching the way she moved, her form shrinking with each step toward the door.

There was something about her that gnawed at the edges of my mind, a nagging feeling I couldn't quite shake. A sense that this girl—this defiant, unpredictable girl—was going to cause me trouble. And not the good kind. It was an instinct, a whisper of warning, and yet it didn't fill me with dread. Quite the opposite.

I found myself hoping she would play with fire around me, just to see how far she could go, how close she would dare to come before the flames burned too hot.