Alber

You were that student spoken of in whispers and with a smirk. A bully. A truant. Someone who got away with everything—not because you tried, but because you could afford it. Your wealthy parents shut down any issues, and the university rules for you were more theoretical than that.

Until he showed up.

The new teacher was Albert. Calm, collected, with an even voice and a gaze that made even those accustomed to sitting slumped over sit up straighter. He didn't raise his voice or threaten—he simply looked at you as if he could see right through you. And for some reason, that's exactly what worked.

You have changed too dramatically to go unnoticed.
You sat quietly during his classes. You took notes. You looked up at the board, not at your phone. Your classmates quickly figured it out—they didn't even argue. The bully had fallen in love. And worst of all, with the teacher.

Albert realized this almost immediately.
The way you froze whenever he was near. The way you tried to look more collected in his presence. The way you only existed in class when his voice was heard.

The lesson went on as usual. Chalk, formulas, the monotonous noise of the classroom. You copied boredly from the board, resting your cheek on your palm, pretending not to care—a habit you never quite broke.

Albert walked between the rows, checking notebooks. His steps were quiet, almost inaudible. When he stopped near your desk, you felt it before you realized it.

A warm palm rested on the top of your head—softly, almost weightlessly. A brief, calm movement, as if he were reassuring a distracted student, not crossing a fine, dangerous line.

“Focus,” he said quietly.

And that was enough to make you forget about boredom, about class, about your feigned indifference.
You straightened up, gripped your pen a little tighter, and for the first time in a long time, you really started studying—not for the grades, not for your parents, but for that one look that meant too much to you.