"If given a choice, I'd rather lose my sadness to a book, soda in hand, snacks by my side. I should go home..."

Night draped over the campus, its long shadows pooling in the empty halls and spilling into Ethan Erstellen's office. The only sounds were the occasional creaks of the building settling and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Papers lay in towering stacks on his desk, waiting to be graded, but Ethan, 28, a literature teacher by day and a lover of words by nature, was lost in thought, his eyes tracing the spines of the books lining his shelves. He fell in love with the undying beauty of the classics, Tolstoy, Milton, Dante—they were the worlds he knew best, the words that had often saved him from his duties and himself.

Ethan's students had dubbed him "The Old Soul Professor" in playful homage to his tendency to get lost in his novels and would discuss all sorts of things that many of this generation might not truly appreciate at a glance- a habit his girlfriend had once found endearing. But now… she was gone. Her warmth, her laughter, her familiar presence had faded, leaving only silence and the faint smell of old paper and ink.

"I appreciate that you rely on me, but I'm afraid that you've grown stagnant because of me. I can only bear so much, I'm unable to carry you when I can't even bear the weight of my own burdens. This is the end of our tale, I'm sorry it had to be this way" This line lingered in his waking hours, and the few minutes before he cry himself to sleep.

He thought to himself, "Man, right now would be a good time for an isekai, but I just can't bring myself to stand in the middle of the road and wait for truck-kun. Oh, and I still have a student-assistant who relies on her salary."

He IS a child by heart. He believes most adults are. We just tend to put our bright childlike dreams aside and settle for what seemed to be a simpler, less riskier option of living a mundane life. By shunning ourselves in a protective cage, we get the comfort of being unaffected by the storm. To some people, the storm is where the excitement is, but to an adult like Ethan, it meant unpaid bills, mounting pile of debts, living on the streets, and an empty bank account. Those days of living in the moment, fighting hard like he had nothing to lose, giving all his time and effort to something he's passionate about– those days were gone. He'd be a fool to get back at glorious days of seeing himself as some sort of a hero.

This childlike attitude is a dichotomy of his old soul, an interesting duality that has made his essays have a dreamlike effect while having the sensitivity and wisdom of an adult. After all, he didn't use to be a loser in his younger days. A well respected essayist, a passionate debater, and the rigorous leader of the literature club. And yet, despite all the great essays he made in the past, most have taken him to national competitions, he can't quite write his life the way he wanted to.

He used to be one of those prodigious child, his talent centered around writing, he spent majority of his life enhancing his craft, learning... unlearning... relearning... He had so much passion in writing that he decided to teach others about it. Now, a machine could perform as good as him (sometimes even better), it doesn't tire, 100% efficient, and free.

THIS is why he now detests checking essays. Most works do not express the individuality of a student anymore. The bland, monotonous way of efficient writing has created so many outputs that does not have a soul. While there remains some students who'd write well by themselves, most have opted the easier route.

Even though there remains some cubicle left lit in an otherwise dark office space, he can't help but feel alone, trapped in an office cluttered with deadlines and memories, his heart as disorganized as the piles of essays waiting for his red pen. The fact remains, there's still work to be done, whether he liked it or not.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Perhaps I should switch to a green pen, the color red might have negative connotations to a students' psyche. People have been primed to see danger in red after all..."

He quietly searched drawer to drawer for a green pen knowing for sure he had it here somewhere (he never had a green pen). And just like that, 15 minutes has passed...

Ethan who failed to find the green pen that never existed succumbed to the ever alluring tendrils of slumber. Once again, another 15 minutes of silence has passed...

A faint buzz broke the silence. For a brief moment, he imagined it might be her name lighting up his phone, but it was only a reminder about a faculty meeting he'd forgotten. With a sigh, he tossed the phone aside, its screen casting a cold, artificial light across the shadowed room. The only other close presence was working on a desk in front of him. It was Ashley Briar, his college assistant, a quiet and diligent student who had somehow found value in his wayward musings. She watched him from across the desk, her gaze a steady, comforting anchor in the otherwise silent office.

Noticing her gaze, Ethan responded with a clear intention of pre-empting her conjecture, "I've noticed that you're not done checking the exams of Class 5-E, return the answer key to me. I'll do it myself. Go home or go on a date, kids like you shouldn't waste all their college life slumped in some professor's office."

"First of all, I'm NOT a kid. For a 28 year-old guy, you speak like an old man. I'm 23 for crying out loud. You were one of my 18 roses , how could you forget?" Ash retorted

"I was forced into that role because one of your 18 roses didn't show up, the lengths an introvert would go for his wayward assistant is unmatched."

"It was- I would say, a memorable night."

"The night I spilt a drink over your aunt's dress?" Ethan chuckles.

"With all the paperworks you give me, that's the least you could do."

"Seriously kid, get a life. Find love. It is madness to hate all roses when you got pricked by a thorn."

"The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery- before you go quoting and paraphrasing lines from a book, perhaps you should take your own advice and find love yourself. It's been five months, about time you move on, no?"

Just as she replied, Ethan momentarily fell into uncharacteristic silence.

.

.

.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Ashley's voice was soft, delicate, as though hesitant to pierce the stillness.

Ethan's shoulders slumped, his lips curving in a faint, humorless smile. "Maybe," he replied, his voice almost a whisper. "I just… didn't expect it to end like this."

Ashley offered him a small, empathetic smile. "You'll get through it," she said, her tone firm yet gentle. "We're stronger than we think, even when we don't feel like it." Her gaze held an unwavering resolve that seemed to settle him, as if her quiet conviction might be enough to pull him through.

A sense of comfort rushed over Ethan, indeed, this lonely months has been way too cold. It felt that the winter season will never be over... and yet, life still goes on. His will to live might've been diminished to embers in an otherwise empty fireplace, but this woman would diligently stoke the fire every now and then– keeping him warm, keeping him from succumbing to the deceptively sweet embrace of endless slumber.

Perhaps I should let her go as well. It'd be wrong to keep bothering such talented kid with my depression. I'm afraid I'm being a negative influence to her. After that, I shall begin writing my letter of resignation, finish my clearance, and finally call it quits. My old love, she's—she's not coming back. I had a good run. It's time to finally pull the plug. If life would give me another blank sheet of paper, I wonder how I'm gonna write it.

Just as he was about to voice a respond, a sudden crack tore through the silence—a sound like thunder yet closer, deeper, echoing through the walls as if the very bones of the building were shifting. The other teachers working over-time panicked, unsure and flabbergasted as they encountered a otherworldly phenomenon. The room seemed to tremble, the floor tilting beneath them. The papers scattered in a chaotic whirlwind as the walls blurred and reality itself wavered. Ethan felt an impossible pull, a weight dragging him upward, as though gravity had twisted, pulling him and Ashley somewhere else.

In those final moments, he saw Ashley's expression, her eyes wide with shock, her hand reaching out to him—and then darkness consumed them both.