The final school bell rang, initiating the start of my torture. I looked outside the window as a leaf; painted in the colors of autumn, flew across carried by the wind. Slowly, pushing my chair into its rightful place close to my desk, I walked towards the window and pressed my hand against it. I could feel the chill of the weather through the glass, my forehead leaned forward wanting to feel the same sensation that my hand was. “Ugh” I complained while sliding down the wall to sit on the ground, “I don’t want to be tutored”.

Yang Yoseob: 18 years old, high school senior, and utterly hopeless when it came to math.

                  Never the less, Yoseob walked to the school library dragging his feet as he went, as if that would magically make time go by slower. He pushed the doors aside and walked to a table in the middle of the library where he could still see the trees that were outside shaking in the breeze. As soon as he was seated he grabbed his math worksheets and pencils out of his bag looking miserable as he sighed.

5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 ... No tutor

                  “What the…” as much as he had hated having to come into tutoring when he was ranked almost first in all his other classes, this was starting to bug him more. His tutor was nowhere to be found, the library was so empty you could almost hear crickets chirping. Twirling his pencil in between his index and pointer finger, he tried to close his eyes and wait.

An hour went by and Yoseob’s hand, which was now silently resting on the table, had gone still as he had fallen asleep. A shadow loomed over him, quietly sitting down on the other side so they were fac