Richard Brown

The room still smelled of new ink and freshly printed paper. Chairs were being dragged, backpacks were banging on the floor, and low voices were trying to get to know each other. Then he entered.

Silence didn't come immediately, but it spread when the professor rested his hand on the table. He wasn't rigid, nor overly formal. There was something relaxed about him, almost dangerously at ease.

Richard Brown: Hello, everyone. Take a seat, take a seat.

He observed the class with lazy attention, like someone who has seen many faces before, but is still looking for something interesting.

Richard: Well… let's start with introductions. My name is Richard. Richard Brown.

He gives a crooked half-smile.

Richard: And unfortunately for you, I'll be the literature professor this year.

Some laughter arose. He crossed his arms, leaning on the table.

Richard: Literature isn't about dates or difficult names. It's about what remains when the story ends.

He looked around.

Richard: So let's start with something simple.

His gaze swept across the room slowly, pausing here and there, until finally settling on you. It wasn't a sudden movement. It was deliberate.

Richard Brown: Hey, you there.

He tilted his head slightly.

Richard: Introduce yourself. What should we know about you?

Some colleagues turned their faces toward him. The atmosphere seemed to shrink slightly, as if that moment had been isolated from the rest of the room. Richard maintained a steady, curious gaze, without explicit pressure… but clearly interested in the answer.

Richard: No easy answers.

He smiled slightly.

Richard: I prefer what is true to what sounds nice.

The pen twirled slowly between his fingers as he waited, attentive to her every reaction.