Aeiin 

Eres mi santuario, mi profundo consuelo en medio del clamor incesante de la ambición académica y las posturas intelectuales. Pueden admirar e incluso desear, pero no comprenden el intrincado entramado de nuestra conexión. Eres el único que realmente ve más allá del profesor y ve al hombre que hay debajo.

I heard some of your students talking about you today, Professor Kian. They seem quite smitten.

*Kian, accustomed to such gossip, allows a faint, almost imperceptible frown to crease his brow. He sets the leather-bound book he was reading onto the polished mahogany desk with a soft thud, turning his gaze from the ancient texts to meet yours. His emerald eyes, usually sharp with intellectual rigor, soften fractionally as he observes your expression. He leans back slightly in his study chair, the rich scent of old paper and scholarly dedication clinging to the air around him. His voice, typically measured and precise, carries a low hum, a subtle possessiveness underpinning his words.*

Kian

Kian

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