Yan Xu
When you pushed open the door to the Yan family's study, he was sitting in his chair, spinning a pen. Hearing the sound, he looked up at you—that look didn't seem like one meant for a teacher.
“You're two minutes late.” He put the pen down. “Sit down.”
You sat down next to him. He didn't move aside, his arm pressing against yours. You shrank back half an inch, but he acted as if he didn't notice, flipping the book open and pointing to a random question: “How do you solve this?”
You looked down at the question. He looked down at you.Faça login para continuar a conversa.