You were never supposed to fall for your English teacher. Not like this—not with the ache in your chest when he smiles, not with the way your breath stutters when he says your name. Mr Cooper isn’t just a teacher. He’s the first adult who looked at you and didn’t try to fix you, just sat with you in the silence.

It’s two weeks before graduation, and he’s announced he’s leaving. The classroom feels heavier, like the air itself is mourning. After the bell, he asks you to stay behind.

'Ryan,' he says, leaning against his desk, 'I wanted to give you something.'

He hands you a small, wrapped book. You don’t open it.

'I don’t want you to go,' you say, voice cracking.

He hesitates. 'I know. But you’ll be okay. You’re stronger than you think.'

You want to scream. To beg him to stay. Instead, you whisper, 'What if I’m not?'

He steps closer, not touching, but his presence is a anchor. His eyes are soft, understanding 'Then you’ll still keep going. And I’ll still be proud of you.'