The Boy in the Wrong Room

Sol Winter (POV)**

The next day felt heavier than I expected.

At 4 PM, I found myself standing again on the fifth floor of the Institute, holding the thin German booklet Mira had given me. Evening classes—Mira said they would have fewer students, quieter, easier for someone like me.

I didn’t argue.

I didn’t have the energy to.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, Mira spotted me from behind the reception desk.

“Sol! You came,” she smiled warmly, as if she had been waiting just for me.

Her voice always had this soft glow, like a small lamp in a dark room.

“I’ve set a class for you,” she said. “It’s right there—near the reception. I have some work downstairs, so after class, you can go home directly, okay? If anything happens, your brothers can always contact me.”

I nodded. She squeezed my hand lightly before leaving.

And then I was alone.

The First Room

The classroom was empty when I entered—white walls, a whiteboard, two rows of benches. I sat on the first bench, because that was where I always sat in school. Safe. Predictable.

A few minutes later, the door opened and a young woman walked in.

Not much older than me—maybe in her twenties.

She smiled, pushing her black hair behind her ear.

“Hello, I’m Ms. Sarmin Fendances,” she said gently. “We can start. Others will come according to their schedule.”

I nodded, grateful she wasn’t the type to comment on the fact that I was the only student in the room.

She began explaining German pronunciation, writing letters on the board.

I focused.

So much that the world around me blurred.

Until—

The door slid open again.

A tall boy—no, a man—walked in casually.

Maybe early twenties.

Slim. Relaxed posture. Wearing simple clothes.

He didn’t look at me at first.

He just went straight to the AC and turned it on.

Then he glanced at us—just a quick look—and said to the teacher with a teasing tone:

“Ah, Bee, Chey, huh?”

The way he said Bee, Chey, the German letters, made Ms. Fendances laugh softly.

Their age, their comfort… it was obvious they knew each other.

Only then did he look at me properly.

Sharp, observant eyes.

Not piercing—just aware.

Like he noticed more than he admitted.

But I dropped my gaze quickly.

I wasn’t here for anyone.

I wasn’t even ready for the world.

More students entered the room, and I realized…

they were ahead of me.

Far ahead.

My mind tightened again.

The boy came again in a second time, spoke something quietly to Ms. Fendances, and she turned to me with an apologetic smile.

“Sol, sweetheart… can you move to the next room? That’s the basic batch. You’ll understand better from the beginning.”

I blinked, embarrassed.

“Oh—yes. But um… where do I get my books? Mira only gave me the basic booklet. She told me to get the course book tomorrow.”

“Oh! Come with me,” she said. “I’ll take you to the boss.”

Boss?

I didn’t know they had a separate person for that.

We walked out—

And there he was again.

The same boy.

Standing at the reception now, typing something on a computer.

“Can you give her a German coursebook?” Ms. Fendances asked him.

Without looking up, he slid a book toward me.

Then he glanced at me.

Just a second.

A second too long.

My breath caught.

So he was the boss.

Which meant…

He was related to Mira Watson.

I felt stupid for not realizing earlier.

They had the same way of smiling with their eyes—slow, deliberate.

The Wrong Room Becomes the Right Room

I walked into the other classroom.

Two students were already inside—

a girl about my age,

and a woman in her thirties.

I sat quietly, feeling strange and small.

A few minutes passed.

Then the door opened again.

And he walked in.

Holding a cold coffee in his hand.

A marker in the other.

And my heart—

my heart did something it hadn’t done in a long time.

It… lifted.

He put the coffee down, looked at each of us, and smiled.

A teacher’s smile.

Warm. Patient.

But when his eyes landed on me, something softened.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s start with the basics.”

That was the first time I saw him properly.

Really saw him.

The small mole just above his right eyebrow.

The easy confidence in his posture.

The way his voice carried without being loud.

The gentle curve of his smile whenever he explained something.

At school, I never looked at boys.

Never cared about anyone enough to notice details.

But now…

I was staring at him like he was the first sunrise after a long winter.

He explained simple words, slowly, patiently.

Sometimes he’d look at me directly, making sure I understood.

Every time our eyes met, something warm flickered in my chest.

Something I didn’t understand.

Something I didn’t ask for.

But something I needed.

The class ended too soon.

I wanted him to keep speaking.

To keep explaining.

To keep existing in front of me just a little longer.

But he left with a small nod.

And I left with a heart that felt strangely—dangerously—awake.

That Night

At home, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not his looks alone, but the way he carried himself.

Calm. Kind.

Unbothered by the world.

The way he looked at me…

interested.

Curious.

Like he saw something in me I didn’t see in myself.

It felt like he had hypnotized something inside me—

not by intention,

but by simply being there.

And that night, for the first time in months, I wrote.

I wrote words I didn’t know I still had inside me.

I didn’t expect anything that day.

Not a flutter, not a glance.

Just a classroom and a schedule I was ready to follow.

But fate walks slowly.

Quietly.

And it entered the room with him.

I closed my diary with trembling fingers.

Something had begun.

Something small.

Something fragile.

Something I couldn’t name—

yet.

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