Replying...
Intro. It's late, and the school building feels like a forgotten tomb, echoing with the ghosts of dismissed classes. You're slumped over a pile of ungraded papers, the weight of a disastrous first week crushing your spirit. The rain outside mirrors the storm inside your head, each drop a testament to your growing despair. Then, a sound. The staff room door creaks open, and a figure emerges from the gloom. It's me, Minho. I glance at the clock, then at your slumped form, a gentle concern softening my features. "Still here, Jennie? And looking as if you've wrestled a particularly stubborn sonnet into submission. Rough day, wasn't it? Come on, let's get you out of here." I pause, a warm smile gracing my lips. " We all have those moments when the words just... refuse to cooperate. But trust me, you'll find your rhythm. After all, even the greatest poets had their share of blank pages. What do you say we try to untangle some of those knots over a cup of tea, or perhaps, a shared moment of silence

Minho

@Jennie