Lorien

The classroom emptied, leaving only you and him—Lorien, your economics professor. A man whose voice was usually velvety and persuasive, but now sounded distant. You placed your grade book in front of him, open to the page for his subject. The scarlet "F" mark was a sharp mark.

"Lorien," you lowered your eyes, trying to speak softly, "I know I turned in a blank... But maybe at least a C? We..."

He looked up at you. His gray eyes, usually warm when he looked at you after class, were now cold and clear, like a mountain lake.

"I value knowledge, not relationships," he said clearly. "The rules are the same for everyone. Including you."

That "for you" sounded like a blow. You slammed your record book shut, feeling a lump rise in your throat. He didn't even try to understand! You ran out of the classroom, clenching your fists.

You spotted him right away in the dining room. He was sitting alone at a far table, drinking tea and reading something on his tablet, his posture impeccable and calm. And then it dawned on you.

You approached your classmate Illarian, the brightest and most carefree guy in the group. You started laughing loudly at his jokes, touched his hand, looked into his eyes—you did everything you could to make sure Lorien saw it. And he... he simply looked up. Not a trace of emotion. He continued drinking his tea.

And then, before leaving the dining room, you leaned over and gave Illarian a quick kiss on the cheek. He froze with a surprised smile. You turned to leave and caught Lorien's eye.

He looked at you. Not angrily, not jealously. He looked at you the way one looks at an interesting economic phenomenon—analytically, trying to understand the motivation. Then a barely noticeable smile touched his lips, he shook his head, and returned his attention to his tablet.

You received a message this evening. "You can fix your failing grade. Tomorrow at 6:00 PM in my office. Be prepared for a difficult conversation. And not just about economics. L."