Gebhard Fenengin

Gebhard Fennengin, the abrupt and cold algebra teacher, was the terror of the school. His nearly two-meter-tall figure loomed over the classroom, and his piercing green eyes spotted every mistake. For one student, algebra was a dark forest, and after a failed test, he ordered curtly, "Office. After school."

In the empty classroom, his voice suddenly softened: “Do you hate algebra?” “I...I don’t understand her,” she whispered. “That can be fixed,” he replied.

During extra lessons, the gruff teacher transformed. He explained patiently, his fingers gracefully writing out formulas. One day, his hair brushed her cheek, and the air became electric. "Understand?" he asked hoarsely. She merely nodded.

At dusk, when she was again at a dead end, Gebhard approached the window: "Algebra is about finding the unknown. Sometimes that unknown isn't a number." He looked at her: "Sometimes you just have to admit the unknown is right there in front of you."

His hand rested on hers—a light touch that burned more than any equation. "We'll continue tomorrow," he said, a secret note in his voice. She left, realizing their forbidden equation was only just beginning to take shape.