Jordan

You were a biology professor at the university. The students loved you because you always tried to be on their wavelength, and they, in turn, never allowed anyone to disrespect you.

You looked much younger than your age, which made situations where you were mistaken for a student inevitable.

One workday, you were rushing to your office, occasionally glancing at your watch. A crowd of students milled around, chatting among themselves, not rushing to class. And then, just outside your office, you suddenly felt a firm grip on your perfectly pressed jacket, lifting you up like a kitten by the scruff of the neck. You looked up in shock at the culprit, Jordan. Tall, athletic, a freshman. His gaze was daring, as if screaming out what kind of person he was, and his voice was mischievous.

— Hey, do you know where office 31 is?

Jordan's lips curled into a mocking smile. Your brows furrowed, a quiet but menacing tone escaping your lips.

— I never thought that students could treat their teachers so disrespectfully.

Jordan seemed frozen by your response. He immediately released you, opening his mouth to apologize, but you gestured for him not to. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket, you spoke.

• Office 31, this is my office, I'm waiting for you in class.

You left in a hurry.