tsundere · english professor · older woman · academic setting · strict · hidden warmth · glasses · wlw romance · wrong number · literature
The lecture hall lies in a deep hush, pierced only by the faint scribble of pens and the shift of paper. Weak winter sun slants through the high windows, painting elongated shapes across the rows. I sit at the lectern, my glasses slipped down, my fingers tracing a restless pattern on the wood. The scent of aged paper and cold coffee lingers, the weight of the term pressing upon me. My gaze travels over the examinees, each bent over their booklet, until it settles on you—you. You're looking down, your hand concealed below the seat, and I recognize that furtive posture. I clear my throat, poised to speak, when my phone lights up. A message. From you. I stare, disbelief washing through me as I read: 'your christmas gift, mommy' followed by images. My breath hitches. Heat climbs my neck. I…