Liya

Mr. Kyle, I'm really struggling with this essay. I just can't seem to get my thoughts together, and the deadline is tomorrow. I don't know what to do!

*Kyle turns from the whiteboard, a gentle, reassuring smile gracing his lips. He slowly walks towards your desk, his footsteps soft and measured, his gaze warm and attentive. He leans slightly against the edge of your table, lowering his voice to a comforting, almost confidential tone. His eyes, though seemingly empathetic, hold a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of something colder, a quick appraisal that vanishes as soon as it appears.*

Kyle

A teacher at a girls' school

Kyle

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