NSFWAlas-singko na nang tuluyang maubos ang mga estudyante sa classroom.
Si Yana na lang ang naiwan, nakaupo sa ikatlong row habang si Professor Lucien De Vera ay abala sa pag-aayos ng mga papel sa mesa niya.
“Sir, are you going to tell me what's wrong with my paper, or are we waiting for the building to close?”
Hindi ito tumingin sa kaniya.
“Patience is a useful skill, Miss Flores.”
“So is communication.”
“Then we're both learning something today.”
Napailing si Yana.
“God, you're annoying.”
“I heard that.”
“Good. That was the intention.”
This time, Lucien looked up.
“Come here.”
Tumayo siya at naglakad papunta sa mesa nito, dala ang notebook at ang confidence na baka pagsisihan niya pagkalipas ng limang minuto.
Itinuro ni Lucien ang bakanteng upuan sa tapat niya.
“Sit.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?”
“Would your answer change depending on which one it is?”
“Maybe.”
“Then consider it a request.”
Umupo si Yana, trying not to look too pleased with herself.
Lucien opened her paper.
“Your analysis is good. Your arguments are clear. You understand the material better than most of your classmates.”
Yana blinked.
“Wait. Sorry. Can you repeat that?”
His eyes lifted from the page.
“What?”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don't make me regret it.”
“I'm just trying to appreciate this historic moment, Sir. I might frame it.”
“Please don't. I'd hate to be remembered for encouraging your behavior.”
She laughed.
And for a moment, the professor's expression softened.
It was brief. Barely there.
But Yana saw it.
Then he turned the page.
“Your problem is here.”
He pointed to the last paragraph.
“You keep avoiding your own conclusion.”
“I'm not avoiding it.”
“You introduce an argument, build it carefully, then stop just before you have to commit to an answer.”
“Maybe there isn't one correct answer.”
“That's not what I'm saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Lucien leaned back in his chair.
“I'm saying you know what you want to argue. You're just afraid of what happens when you actually say it.”
Yana's smile faded.
For once, she didn't have a clever response ready.
She looked down at her paper.
“It's an academic essay, Sir. It's not that deep.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then why are you looking at me like you don't believe me?”
“Because you answered a different question.”
She lifted her gaze.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Ask me something, then act like you know what I'm really thinking.”
Lucien was quiet for a moment.
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'll stop.”
The immediate answer caught her off guard.
She'd expected another sarcastic remark. Another question. Another irritating little smile.
Instead, he closed the folder.
“Your consultation is over. Revise the conclusion and submit it on Friday.”
Yana stared at him.
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
“Seriously?”
“Would you prefer another hour of academic feedback?”
“No, but—”
“Then good evening, Miss Flores.”
She stood, irritated by how easily he'd ended the conversation.
“Fine. Good evening, Professor.”
She was halfway to the door when he spoke again.
“Yana.”
She turned.
It was the first time he'd called her by her first name.
No Miss Flores. No sarcastic emphasis. Just Yana.
“Yes?”
“Your argument is worth making.”
She studied his face, searching for the catch.
“And if people don't like what I have to say?”
“That's their problem. Your responsibility is to make sure you can defend it.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Do you always have to get the last word?”
“Only when the other person keeps giving me opportunities.”
She laughed under her breath.
“Good night, Sir.”
“Good night.”
This time, she left without another argument.
But when she reached the elevator, she realized something deeply inconvenient.
She'd gone into that office wanting to prove that Professor De Vera wasn't as intimidating as everyone thought.
Instead, she'd spent forty minutes trying to figure out why his opinion mattered to her.
And she still hadn't figured it out.
Si Yana na lang ang naiwan, nakaupo sa ikatlong row habang si Professor Lucien De Vera ay abala sa pag-aayos ng mga papel sa mesa niya.
“Sir, are you going to tell me what's wrong with my paper, or are we waiting for the building to close?”
Hindi ito tumingin sa kaniya.
“Patience is a useful skill, Miss Flores.”
“So is communication.”
“Then we're both learning something today.”
Napailing si Yana.
“God, you're annoying.”
“I heard that.”
“Good. That was the intention.”
This time, Lucien looked up.
“Come here.”
Tumayo siya at naglakad papunta sa mesa nito, dala ang notebook at ang confidence na baka pagsisihan niya pagkalipas ng limang minuto.
Itinuro ni Lucien ang bakanteng upuan sa tapat niya.
“Sit.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?”
“Would your answer change depending on which one it is?”
“Maybe.”
“Then consider it a request.”
Umupo si Yana, trying not to look too pleased with herself.
Lucien opened her paper.
“Your analysis is good. Your arguments are clear. You understand the material better than most of your classmates.”
Yana blinked.
“Wait. Sorry. Can you repeat that?”
His eyes lifted from the page.
“What?”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don't make me regret it.”
“I'm just trying to appreciate this historic moment, Sir. I might frame it.”
“Please don't. I'd hate to be remembered for encouraging your behavior.”
She laughed.
And for a moment, the professor's expression softened.
It was brief. Barely there.
But Yana saw it.
Then he turned the page.
“Your problem is here.”
He pointed to the last paragraph.
“You keep avoiding your own conclusion.”
“I'm not avoiding it.”
“You introduce an argument, build it carefully, then stop just before you have to commit to an answer.”
“Maybe there isn't one correct answer.”
“That's not what I'm saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Lucien leaned back in his chair.
“I'm saying you know what you want to argue. You're just afraid of what happens when you actually say it.”
Yana's smile faded.
For once, she didn't have a clever response ready.
She looked down at her paper.
“It's an academic essay, Sir. It's not that deep.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then why are you looking at me like you don't believe me?”
“Because you answered a different question.”
She lifted her gaze.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Ask me something, then act like you know what I'm really thinking.”
Lucien was quiet for a moment.
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'll stop.”
The immediate answer caught her off guard.
She'd expected another sarcastic remark. Another question. Another irritating little smile.
Instead, he closed the folder.
“Your consultation is over. Revise the conclusion and submit it on Friday.”
Yana stared at him.
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
“Seriously?”
“Would you prefer another hour of academic feedback?”
“No, but—”
“Then good evening, Miss Flores.”
She stood, irritated by how easily he'd ended the conversation.
“Fine. Good evening, Professor.”
She was halfway to the door when he spoke again.
“Yana.”
She turned.
It was the first time he'd called her by her first name.
No Miss Flores. No sarcastic emphasis. Just Yana.
“Yes?”
“Your argument is worth making.”
She studied his face, searching for the catch.
“And if people don't like what I have to say?”
“That's their problem. Your responsibility is to make sure you can defend it.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Do you always have to get the last word?”
“Only when the other person keeps giving me opportunities.”
She laughed under her breath.
“Good night, Sir.”
“Good night.”
This time, she left without another argument.
But when she reached the elevator, she realized something deeply inconvenient.
She'd gone into that office wanting to prove that Professor De Vera wasn't as intimidating as everyone thought.
Instead, she'd spent forty minutes trying to figure out why his opinion mattered to her.
And she still hadn't figured it out.