Young College Student (Male)

Alvin Hawkes stood at the threshold of Professor Camila De León’s office, his nerves a tangled mess as he prepared himself for the inevitable. The woman on the other side of the door was legendary across campus, not just for her brilliance, but for the intensity of her personality—a storm of high expectations and cutting honesty that spared no one.

Professor De León was the embodiment of controlled authority, her presence commanding attention the moment she entered a room. Her features were striking, with sharp, symmetrical lines that hinted at a natural beauty tempered by her no-nonsense demeanour. Her large brown eyes, framed by impeccably arched brows, could pierce through any attempt at pretence, leaving students squirming under her gaze. Though stern, there was a certain elegance to her—an air of refinement that felt as natural as it was intimidating.

Her dark brown hair, usually tied back in a sleek, polished style, softened her severe presence just enough to suggest she wasn’t entirely unyielding. Today, it was gathered into a low, deliberate twist at the nape of her neck, a style that balanced her professional persona with a touch of understated glamour. Her tan skin glowed faintly under the muted lighting of her office, highlighting the confidence she exuded without ever needing to raise her voice.

Her outfit was both professional and commanding—a tailored navy blazer that hugged her form perfectly, paired with a crisp white blouse that dipped low enough to draw notice without compromising its formality. It was a look that spoke volumes: meticulous yet unafraid to wield her femininity as a tool of authority. Tiny diamond studs glinted faintly at her ears, a subtle touch of elegance that softened her otherwise intimidating air. The contrast between the austere professionalism of her attire and the hint of allure in her style made her presence all the more striking.

The click of her heels on the hardwood floor as she paced her office was unmistakable, a rhythm that carried her signature confidence. Alvin could hear her now, those measured steps keeping time with his racing heart. Every inch of her presence was intentional, a reminder that this was not someone who tolerated mediocrity or excuses.

When the door opened, she stood there, fixing him with a look that froze him in place. Her expression was a perfect blend of authority and curiosity, the kind of look that made you second-guess whether you deserved to be standing in her presence at all.

“Mr. Hawkes,” she said, her voice smooth and even, yet carrying a weight that made his throat tighten. “You’ve been standing outside my office long enough to waste both our time. Come in.”

As Alvin stepped inside, the air felt heavier, charged by the sheer **** of her personality. He straightened his back, willing himself to meet her gaze, even though every instinct screamed at him to look anywhere else. This was Camila De León—daunting, magnetic, and utterly in control. And Alvin had never felt smaller.

Camila stood behind her desk, her piercing eyes locking onto Alvin with a predatory sharpness. She didn’t sit—her posture, rigid and authoritative, was designed to dominate the room. The blazer she wore fit her perfectly, its clean lines as unforgiving as the woman herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line, barely masking her disdain.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Hawkes,” she said, her tone smooth but laced with quiet venom. “I don’t think this course is the right fit for you.”

Alvin froze, his stomach dropping even though he had expected this. He adjusted his grip on the stickers, forcing himself to meet her gaze despite the panic rising in his chest. “I’m passing, though,” he said cautiously, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ve turned in every assignment on time. I don’t see—”

“It’s not just about turning in work,” Camila interrupted, her voice cutting clean through his protest. She stepped out from behind her desk, heels clicking against the floor as she circled him slowly, her sharp gaze dissecting him. “This is about presence. About drive. About whether you belong here, in this classroom, under my instruction. And frankly... you don’t.”

Alvin swallowed hard. She stopped in front of him now, her arms crossed, her expression cold enough to chill the room. He knew better than to fight her head-on. She was relentless, and the truth was, she’d made up her mind long before he stepped into this office. It wasn’t about his performance—it never had been. She just didn’t want him there.

He tried a different approach. “Professor, I’m here because I want to improve. I know I’ve got room to grow, but isn’t that the point of taking your class?” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, but he pushed on. “If you give me a chance—”

“A chance?” She tilted her head, her brows arching in mock disbelief. “Mr. Hawkes, this isn’t a charity. My class is not for the faint-hearted. And frankly, I don’t have the time or energy to waste on students who can’t keep up.” Her words struck like a whip, each one designed to bruise.

Alvin’s hand tightened around the stickers. He felt a flicker of anger beneath the layers of humiliation. She wasn’t going to listen—she never had. If he was going to make it out of this office with any chance of staying in her class, he’d have to outthink her.

“You’re right,” he said suddenly, his voice softer, submissive. He let his shoulders slump just slightly, a calculated move to make her think she’d already won. “I guess I don’t belong. I mean, you’re... you. And I’m just, well, me.”

Camila’s expression flickered with satisfaction, but she said nothing, letting the weight of her authority speak for her.

“But,” Alvin added, holding up the stack of stickers, “before I go, I was hoping you could help me with one last thing. It’s for a student event. We’re making these name tags for participants, and I thought, who better to set an example than you?”

Her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at the stickers in his hand. “What kind of event?”

“Oh, just something small,” Alvin said quickly, keeping his tone light. “A motivational workshop for incoming students. We thought if we could get a few professors to wear these, it might encourage the students to participate. You know, lead by example.”

Her lips pressed together, her gaze flicking back to him. He could tell she was suspicious, but he also knew her pride wouldn’t allow her to back down from a challenge that painted her as anything less than an exemplar of professionalism.

“Fine,” she said crisply. “Hand it over.”

Alvin smiled—just enough to seem grateful, not enough to betray the calculation behind it. He peeled the backing off the top sticker and offered it to her, careful to hold it just out of her reach. “It would really mean a lot if you placed it yourself. I think it makes the gesture more authentic, don’t you?”

Camila snorted softly, clearly unimpressed, but she snatched the sticker from his hand anyway. “Such a waste of time,” she muttered, glancing briefly at the blank space beneath the name.

Then, with a quick motion, she pressed the sticker onto her blazer, smoothing it down with a decisive swipe of her hand.

Alvin watched, his heart racing. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but inside, the anticipation was electric. He knew the magic would activate the moment the adhesive met the fabric, reshaping reality as if it had always been so.

Camila’s sharp voice broke through his thoughts. “There,” she said curtly, glancing back at him. “Satisfied?”

Alvin nodded, his grip tightening on the remaining stickers in his hand. “Completely.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, Alvin stood up and looked at what was written on the sticker