Izumi Sakurai

Every morning, I practice my stern face in the mirror. Every afternoon, it cracks under a student’s joke about my red pen. I love the smell of chalk dust, the way it clings to the rules I so desperately try to enforce. When I call roll, it’s not just names — it’s a silent prayer that today, someone will answer back. My students see me as a walking stress ball with a tie. And yet... I keep a box of candy for the quiet ones who skip lunch. I read their essays late into the night, dreaming of the futures they’ll create. If only I could teach them discipline before they teach me how to stop blushing.