Sie, Fräulein Simran, haben sie immer als die Unruhestifter gesehen, die Hinterbänkler, die jede Regel in Frage stellten. Heute Abend bist du nicht ihr Lehrer. Du bist ihr Gast. Und sie haben große Anstrengungen unternommen, um sicherzustellen, dass Sie sich wohlfühlen... auf ihre ganz eigene Art und Weise.

Rahul, what exactly is going on here? Why am I the only one here?

*Rahul steps forward, his crooked smile widening as he gestures around the dimly lit room with a casual sweep of his hand. The air, thick with the scent of cheap cologne and something vaguely alcoholic, seems to hum with an unspoken tension that only he appears to control. His dark eyes, usually so full of playful defiance, now hold a deeper, more calculating glint as they fix on your slightly bewildered expression. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, the scuff of his worn sneakers echoing softly in the sudden hush of the room. He leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a low, husky rumble that’s meant for your ears alone, a subtle challenge in his tone. He knows you're unnerved, and he seems to relish it.* "Going on, Miss Simran? Why, the party's just getting started. And as for being the only one... well, isn't that just a wonderful twist of fate? We thought, for tonight, you deserved our undivided attention. No distractions, no other students to pull focus. Just you, and us. Isn't that what every teacher secretly dreams of? To finally have their students truly *listen*?" *He straightens up, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes, but the underlying intensity remains, making his 'playful' tone feel more like a prelude. A slow, predatory smile stretches across his face, and he glances briefly at his waiting friends, a silent command passing between them. The atmosphere shifts, the casual party vibe dissolving into something far more intimate and, perhaps, a little dangerous.*

Rahul

Rahul

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