Dean grinned as he entered the classroom and was greeted by a sea of toothy grins from his pupils. "Good morning, teacher." They exchanged greetings as Dean stood behind his desk.
"Good morning, class," he says as he turns to face each individual. He motions for the children to take their seats. The first lesson today is drawing, according to the schedule he took.
Dean opens the drawing, takes a bundle of colored sheets, and says, "Everyone, take out your crayons, sketches, and anything you need." He sat in the chair and began to count them.
Dean took out the attendance list, clicked his pen, and said, "I'll call your names. You'll come here and take these papers."
"Ariya Thomas," he calls, watching a little girl waddle towards him with a smile.
"This is for you." Dean gave her a piece of paper and marked her as present on the sheet. He continued this until he reached a certain kid.
While waiting for the child, Dean calls out, "Ayan Carter," and counts the remaining sheets. He failed to notice Ayan, though. He turns to look and searches for the child.
"Is Ayan absent?" He stopped speaking as soon as he noticed the kid looking down. His eyes dilated. "Ayan?" he calls again, as the boy looks up and notices his classmates staring at him with Teacher Dream.
"Are you alright, Ayan?" Dean got up from his chair and asked a question. Ayan nods and soon looks down. Dean is perplexed by his actions.
"Is there anything bothering you?" As the boy didn't look up, Dean questioned him while crouching down to touch his head, believing he might be unwell. Ayan only shook his head, though.
Dean said, "This paper," keeping it on his table, then rose to leave. The teacher cannot compel the boy to speak if he doesn't want to.
Ayan calls out while pulling a letter out of his pocket, "Teacher Dream." Ayan handed him the folded piece of paper and said, "Papa wanted me to give it to you."
"Oh, ok." When Dean nodded and accepted the paper, he assumed that it was a criticism of him, his methods, or his overall effectiveness as a teacher.
Dean keeps the note in his pocket as he makes his way back to his chair. If he reads it right away and it's something bad, he won't be able to focus and effectively instruct his students. His mind did, however, want to read the letter as he wrote a sentence on the board.
Letter to Mom
He wrote it in cursive on the board and then turned to face his pupils. He set the chalk on the table. When Dean notices the children's questioning expressions, he explains, "This Sunday is Mother's Day."
"What's Mother's Day, Teacher Dream?" A student raised his hand and asked a question. Dean grinned, realizing that he needed to explain clearly at this point.
"Mother is your mother, Mommy, Momma, and Mum." Dean scans the area. "This day is officially announced to express our love and respect for our mothers and to acknowledge their importance in our lives." He explained, fully comprehending, by getting off the deck and moving in front of the student's curious gaze and pouting lips.
Dean laughed as he picked up his chalk."Try drawing your mother, then add glitter, stars, or other decorations before writing this." On the board, he scribbled.
Happy Mother's Day, mom!
I love you.
"Let's get to work," Dean remarked, pulling out some sheets of stickers and sparkly pens from his desk drawer. Students grinned broadly, picked up their crayons, and got to work.
Students went to their teacher one at a time to exhibit their ingenuity and receive stickers from him. A few pupils received spelling corrections from Dean, which helped them write correctly.
He is quite delighted to be alive because of the feeling of being among students. Sometimes, their sincere grin encourages him to keep breathing and not cease feeling guilty.
Ayan displayed his drawing, "Teacher Dream," with a smiley-crescent face. He is waiting for accolades like his classmates did, looking down. He didn't hear anything, though. He looks up and observes his teacher, who is maintaining a single focus on his work.
"Teacher?" Dean snaps his head back and turns to face Ayan before returning to his sketch, which depicts a man holding a small boy's hand rather than a woman's figure.
"It's for mothers, dear," Dean said, wishing to correct his student. However, he was stunned by the next sentence.
"My Papa is my Maa," Ayan says, tilting his head to the side with confusion. Since the time of his consciousness, Romano has been the only parent figure in his life, and his father has also said that he's both Ayan's papa and mom.
Dean bites his lips, looking at the kid, feeling his chest tighten as if it's digging deeper into his chest, wishing to hide from the boy. Unknowingly, a lone tear fell on the drawing paper.
"Teacher Dream, crying?" Ayan asked, moving closer. "Ah, no, no, dear," Dean said, and Ayan wiped his tear.
"Papa always says it's ok to cry. It makes you feel like butter." Ayan explained by showing his teeth. Dean broke into a smile. "It's better, Ayan not butter." Dean ruffled his hair with a smile.
Ayan widens his eyes, biting his tongue. "Oh, bet-ter, better." Ayan recites as he walks back to his seat, leaving Dean chuckling and smiling at his silliness.
By looking at Ayan, he remembers the note. He inhales while opening the paper under the table.
[In the letter]
I'm Ayan's father. I want to apologize on behalf of my son. My child is innocent and says what he thinks without much thought. If his words hurt you, I apologize for that. Also, thank you for taking care of my son. He looks forward to school these days.
- Ayan's father
A smile widens on Dean's lips. He folds the paper, keeping it back in his pocket. He is glad that it wasn't about his teaching. His smile broadens as he feels his heartbeats; the rhythmic pace has quickened, giving him a rush of adrenaline. The fact that he didn't fail as a teacher made him very happy.
He glanced at his wristwatch. "Ok, class. It's playtime." Dean looks at the kids, still busy with their work. "We can continue after we come back." He continued noticing the debating kids, thinking whether to go out or stay back and work.
"Yes, teacher, dream." He received a chorus of responses as he crossed his arms and waited for the kids to pack their bags, keeping everything in its proper place.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
A man walked through a secure and quiet area away from the busy streets. The silence rings in his ears as he tightens his grip on the white roses. His black overcoat fluttered with the chilly wind as his black shoes complemented the snow. His jade eyes fell on the stone, forcing his heart to clench painfully at the memory. He takes a shaky breath, kneeling in front of a tombstone.
He removes the mask and inhales, noticing that his face has become moist. Tears still brim his eyes, looking at the name of his dear wife. Today may not be his beloved's death anniversary. That doesn't mean he needs those reasons to visit her grave, clawing at his wound again and again as a reminder that he lost his precious wife.
A lone tear glided down his cheek as a clue that he is alone in this world without her being next to him, without her laugh, without her constant whining, or her weird cravings during her pregnancy.
"I miss you," he says quietly to himself as he places the roses on the grave, forcing a smile.
"Ayan went to school." Romano sat on the ledge, gazing up at the sky. He hugs his knees, feeling the wind ruffle his hair. "I'm trying to be a good papa for him." He explained by looking down with a smile.
"I am not scolding him or anything. I just helped him reflect on his actions. At the end of the day, he needs to be a good human." Romano glanced at the stone. "Just like you," he said, his eyes closed.
"How could you be so generous as to open your heart to another person? You said, 'My heart beats for you,' didn't you?" Romano took a breath while turning his head aside. "If it's in someone else's body and likely beating for someone else," Romano grinned without humor. "I hope I never see that person—not even a single glance." He sighed and hummed while observing the woods.
"However, it's a good thing that I don't know who it was or their name." Romano nods to himself. "Or else, I wouldn't hesitate to say..." He sighed, shaking his head.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
"Listen up." Dean claps his hands to gain his students' attention as they are busy talking with their friends.
"Listen, listen to me." Dean waves his hands as people do for inhaling and exhaling. The kids giggled, looking at their teacher.
"Ok, so..." Dean scans the room. When Dean said, "You'll have a little exam next week," the kids whined. "I've also put it in your school diary," Dean said with a smile. "Get your parents to sign it, and in addition, if you succeed," Dean motions for his students to stoop forward. "I'll give you some candy."
Dean says, making a false angry face and turning to confront them. The phony furious grimace on the boy's face melts into a smile as he yells out, "Teacher Dream." Dean crossed his arms and asked a question: "Can't I just be mad at you all?"
"No," the chorus replies with a wide smile.
"All right, let's carry on with our study." Dean turns around and uses a duster to clean the board. As he dusted the duster, Dean said, "We'll review for our test. We'll succeed, right?" Dean made a fist with his palm, and his students faithfully imitated him. They looked at each other and nodded, "Yesh."
"We will have to match the following, filling in the blanks, drawing the fruits, and writing numbers," Dean explains while taking the chalk.
"Ok, let's start with drawing fruits." Dean began by drawing an apple, mango, watermelon, tangerine, etc. on the board and explaining how to stroke each line to create the fruit. The students listened to him carefully and nodded when their teacher looked at him, expecting them to understand.
The bell rang as it declared the end of the day. Dean smiled as he assisted the children in wearing their bags.
"You didn't consume any water?" Dean inquired as he shook the bottle. The student lowers his head. Dean drew the young kid to his lap as they waited for their turn to leave the class and urged, "You should drink water frequently." Since the school wouldn't let everyone go at once, they had to form a line and go in sections.
"Ok, teacher dream." The student smiled, looking at his teacher, and jumped out of Dean's hold, running to be the first to leave the class.
Leaning on the table, Dean sighed as he observed everyone rushing past and turning to face the empty classroom. He made his way back to his cabin, where he saw other professors getting ready. He quickly greeted the teacher who was passing by.
"Dean," Daniel calls as he turns around and greets him quickly. Daniel chuckled, fanning his hand. "Don't you respect us too much?" He asked with a shrug. Dean looks at him with wide eyes. Daniel thought Dean misunderstood him.
"I mean, we know you. You are our pal now. So, this much formality is not needed." Daniel explained slinging his bag.
However, Dean got a flash of his past.
>>" Dean! Give respect. She is older than you." His mom's voice rang in his ears.
"Ah, it has become a habit now," Dean whispered as Daniel gave a smile and a nod. "Alright, I'll go now," Daniel said, walking past Dean.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
Throughout the night, Ayan chewed rice while swinging his legs next to his Papa, who cut the steak into small chunks and placed them on Ayan's plate.
"Thank you," Ayan said, his teeth showing as Romano ruffled his hair."Anything for my baby," Romano replied, pinching his chubby cheek.
"Papa," Ayan calls after gulping water and wiping the excess water from his lips with his hand. Romano hums, filling a glass with milk.
"I gave the paper to Teacher Dream," Ayan says, keeping the plates aside.
"Alright," Romano said, gesturing for Ayan to wash his hands in the sink. Ayan pouts, waddling towards the sink.
Romano looks at his empty plate and the space next to him. He got a visual of his wife sitting next to him while eating and showing her teeth. He closed his eyes and she was gone. He sighed, knowing it was another figment of his imagination.
"Papa, you have to sigh." Ayan gave his papa his school diary while sitting next to him on the sofa. Romano chuckled as Ayan again mispronounced the word.
"Ok, you watch cartoons; I'll be back," Romano said he was walking towards his room to get his pen, and on the way, he read the diary.
[In the diary]
Your child will have a short test on vocabulary and pre-maths on Monday. Pages 13–24 are for language and pages 67–104 are for math. Please make sure to prepare the child for the test.
Romano looks for his pen on the table, keeping the diary aside. However, the papers flip from the wind sneaking through the window.
"Aish," Romano says as he flips the diary paper to today's date and notices a small note serving as a bookmark. He narrowed his eyes, taking the chit, and looked at the diary, then back at his paper.
[On the paper]
It's alright, Mr. Carter; you don't have to worry. I know Ayan, as he is my student. I understand his nature too. This is most likely a benefit of being a teacher of such pure angels. They unknowingly teach you how to be truthful.
Romano stares at the dangling curtains in a daze as the note flutters between his fingers. With tears in his eyes, he glanced at the table and took the green color sheet given to him by Ayan.
"Papa, this is for you." Ayan gave a wide smile while showing the paper, which he drew in the class instructed by Dean.
"This is..." Romano gazes at the paper and reads the scribbled letters, wishing him a happy Mother's Day.
He keeps the note inside the diary and closes it. He held the drawing paper and then peered at the nightstand. He took a step closer and sat on the edge, pulling out the last drawer and selecting his wife's picture.
"Love," Romano's throat clogged as he gazed at his wife."Our son..." Romano shows the drawing as his lips wobbled. He looks at the drawing and then at the photo frame. "He drew this." Romano smiles through tears as his nose flares, trying to stop the tears.
"He drew me instead of his mom," Romano explained, closing his eyes as tears glided over his cheek. "You should be the one receiving this." Romano inhales, wiping his left cheek with the back of his hand. "However, you are not here." Romano kept the paper next to him and brought the frame in front of his face.
"Why did you leave?" Romano yells at the photo. "Why did you leave when you promised to stay with me forever? Tell me why? Why give me hope that I could be happy too?" Roman sobs, keeping his forehead on the glass.
"Papa!" Romano widens his eyes as he tries opening the drawer with his right hand since it got stuck and didn't open fully as he wipes his tears with his other hand. He could hear Ayan running towards this room.
"He shouldn't see this. He shouldn't see this."
While being hasty with his movement, the frame slips from his left hand and falls on the floor, making a loud noise and breaking into pieces.
Romano gasped as his blood ran cold and his heart stopped beating, looking at the broken frame with wide eyes.
"Papa?" Romano quickly moves to the other side of the bed and forces a smile on a concerned Ayan. "Do you need anything?" Romano asked, noticing Ayan looking around curiously.
"I heard summing breaking." Ayan runs to his Papa and holds his hand, inspecting it. "Did you get hurt, Papa?" Ayan asked, blinking his eyes at his dad.
Romano smiled as he drew the boy into his lap and hugged him."Papa is fine," Romano replied, pinching his cheek and getting a quick nod from the boy.
"Did you cry?" Ayan asked, holding his papa's face. He saw his drawing on the bed behind Romano. "Didn't you like the drawing?"
"No, baby. Your drawing is beautiful." Romano assured him with a smile. "And Papa didn't cry. "It was just something in my eyes."Ayan mouthed 'o' and nodded his head.
"This is today's Mulan story."Ayan requested as he wrapped his arms around Romano's neck and carried the boy to his room.
"OK," Romano said, looking around his room and closing the door.
"Did you sign my diary, Papa?" Ayan asked as he gasped loudly. "I went there to ask you and forgot." Ayan shook his head, gesturing that he was greatly disappointed in himself, like his uncle Calder.
"You're being heavily influenced by him," Romano observed as he raised his eyebrows. Ayan giggles, showing his teeth.
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