The late afternoon sun fell through the windows in stripes. Chalk dust floated in the air like slow-moving snowfall as Callum stood beside the whiteboard, sketching out a matrix problem from the previous national senior math contest.
"Okay, Nate," he said, capping the marker. "Try walking me through this one. You don't need the answer yet. Just tell me how you'd break it down."
Nate scratched the back of his neck, eyebrows scrunched. He was smart, just a little unpolished. Callum knew the potential was there—he just needed sharpening. Lara sat two seats away, chin propped in her hand, watching with interest. Or maybe it wasn't the problem she was watching.
"Start by identifying what type of matrix transformation this is," Callum prompted gently.
"Oh—okay. It's linear. I'd check for identity first, then test for invertibility," Nate began.
"Good. Keep going."
Lara twirled her pen between her fingers, elbow resting on her notebook. "I still think it looks like a trick question. You love those, Mr. Hayes."
"Contest math always hides tricks," Callum said, keeping his eyes on Nate. "That's the whole point."
"But you like it," Lara added with a soft smile. "You like watching us squirm."
He didn't answer that.
Nate groaned, half in frustration, half in surrender. "Okay, wait—I need to recheck that last column."
"I told you," Lara said, nudging her foot against his chair playfully. "You keep forgetting the determinant shortcut. I swear, you only remember things when I threaten you."
"I still don't get why you're helping me so much," Nate muttered, flipping a page in his notebook. "You're already excused from the contest. You could go home."
Lara shrugged, her smile sharp. "I want you to win. Obviously."
"Why?"
She looked at Callum briefly. "It's our school's name on the line. And it's Mr. Hayes. Don't you want to make him proud?"
Callum tried to swallow the awkwardness crawling up his throat. Lara turned back to her notes, adding, "Besides, I like challenges."
There was something layered in her tone. Callum heard it. She knew he did. And she didn't stop there.
"I mean, you're good, Nate. But even Mr. Hayes would agree—someone needs to keep pushing you."
"She's scary," Nate muttered under his breath.
"I'm useful," she corrected sweetly.
Their banter stretched across another problem or two, and despite himself, Callum felt the corners of his mouth tug upward. Lara's style of teaching—if you could call it that—was all challenge and games, but Nate was improving. He was seeing patterns faster, absorbing theory with more confidence.
Eventually, Callum clapped his hands once. "Alright, that's enough for today. Submit your notebooks and I'll check the final set tonight. We'll resume on Friday. Lara, you too."
She handed hers over last, brushing his hand with her fingers—accidentally, deliberately, he couldn't tell anymore.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks for staying behind, both of you."
"Of course," she said softly, then smiled. "See you, sir."
They filed out, and the classroom slowly settled into silence. He stacked the notebooks on his desk and sat down, rolling his sleeves up.
Nate's notebook was first. Sloppy work. But improving.
Then came Lara's.
He flipped the cover open, scanning her handwriting—neat, angled, controlled. She drew stars beside some answers, and in the margins were things like: "Remind Nate this is NOT a parabola," and "Hayes said this is key."
He paused at that. Hayes. Not Mr. Hayes. Just his name.
Strange.
Then, as he turned the page, something slipped out.
A photo.
Callum blinked as it fell onto the desk—face down.
He picked it up.
And froze.
It was him.
Not some group photo. Not a random candid.
It was a professional-looking shot, printed on glossy paper. Taken years ago, when he was in university. He remembered that photo—it had been snapped by a photography major as part of a campus exhibit. The library in the background. A warm smile on his face. Candid, yet somehow intimate.
He hadn't seen this picture in years.
And yet Lara had it.
His stomach turned.
Where the hell did she get this?
He stared at it longer than he should have. Was it printed off social media? No. He had locked all those down. And even if it was... why carry it in a notebook? Why keep it tucked where she knew he'd find it?
Unless—
Unless she wanted him to.
A warning bell rang softly in his mind.
He flipped the photo back over, placed it inside the notebook, and closed the cover slowly. His fingers trembled just slightly.
He leaned back in his chair.
No words formed, not even in his thoughts. Just a rush of unease, confusion—and something worse.