By the third week of tutoring, Aryan had decided that Professor Cowel wasn't a man who lost his patience; he simply buried it under layers of logic until it suffocated.
It was a challenge.
Aryan liked challenges.
That Tuesday, he arrived on time for once—mostly to set up his next prank. While waiting for Cowel to finish with another student, he quietly rearranged every book on the professor's shelf by colour instead of subject. Mathematics, physics, philosophy—all turned into a neat rainbow.
When Cowel finally entered, Aryan was lounging at the desk, spinning a pencil between his fingers.
"You're early," Cowel said, closing the door behind him. "Should I be alarmed?"
"Improving myself," Aryan said. "Trying punctuality. Might add it to my résumé under 'rare occurrences.'"
The professor raised one brow, setting his briefcase down. "How very commendable."
He stopped mid-step, frowning at the bookshelf. The precise order of his collection had been destroyed, replaced by chaotic colour-coded artistry.
Aryan watched, expression innocent.
Cowel turned slowly. "Did you reorganize my library?"
"Technically, I optimized it. More aesthetic, less existential dread."
Cowel exhaled through his nose. "You understand, of course, that you've now hidden my references on complex analysis somewhere between baby blue and forest green."
"Then it'll be like a treasure hunt," Aryan said brightly.
For a long moment, Cowel simply looked at him, face unreadable. Then he sat down. "Let's begin. If I focus on mathematics, I might not notice the chaos behind me."
Aryan grinned. "That's the spirit."
***
They started with integrals. Cowel's handwriting covered the board in clean lines.
Aryan watched, bored within minutes. When Cowel turned to retrieve a marker, Aryan quickly erased half an equation and replaced it with a doodle of a confused stick figure labeled "me."
Cowel turned back, paused, and set the marker down with military precision. "Mr. Carter."
"Yes, Professor?"
"Would you care to explain why Newton's work now features modern art?"
"I find visuals help me learn."
"Then visualize detention."
Aryan bit back a laugh. "I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."
"I don't," Cowel said, but the smallest flicker of amusement crossed his face before he turned back to the board.
***
For the next hour, the war continued in subtle moves. Aryan's calculator mysteriously ran out of battery at key moments; his pen "broke" mid-equation; he pretended to confuse sine and cosine just to see the muscle twitch near Cowel's jaw.
Finally, the professor set down the chalk and faced him directly.
"Mr. Carter," he said, tone dangerously calm, "tell me: do you enjoy wasting potential, or has it simply become a habit?"
Aryan leaned back. "I enjoy a challenge."
"This isn't a challenge," Cowel replied. "It's evasion. You'd rather play the fool than risk failing honestly."
That cut deeper than expected. Aryan tried to mask it with a smirk. "You think I'm scared of failing? I've practically made it my art form."
"I think you're terrified of proving you can do better," Cowel said, voice low. "Because then you'd have to keep doing better."
The room fell still. Even the ticking clock seemed to pause.
Aryan's hand tightened around his pencil. "You've got a theory for everything, don't you?"
"I prefer evidence."
He stood, walked to the board, and wrote a long, elegant equation. It stretched almost to the edge, filled with variables and symbols that looked like a foreign language.
"Prove this," Cowel said, stepping aside. "If you're going to play games, play one that matters."
Aryan stared at the problem. "That's—what, graduate level?"
"Almost."
"You expect me to solve that?"
"I expect you to try."
Aryan gave a low whistle. "So this is revenge."
"It's instruction," Cowel said. "You want entertainment? Earn it."
He returned to his desk, leaving Aryan facing the mountain of symbols.
***
For the first time, Aryan was quiet. The equation looked impossible—something about integrals within logarithmic bounds—but the logic pulled at him like a puzzle box. Against his better instincts, he picked up the chalk.
Ten minutes in, his hand was smudged white. He'd made progress: a rough shape of a solution emerging.
Cowel, pretending to grade papers, occasionally glanced up. The boy's posture had changed—leaning forward, focused, the usual smirk gone.
"Interesting," Cowel said quietly.
Aryan froze. "What?"
"You think differently. You're not following the conventional path."
"Because I don't know the conventional path."
"Exactly. And yet, you're closer than half my second-years would be."
Aryan blinked at the board. "So… that's a compliment?"
"An observation."
"Which is your version of affection, I assume."
Cowel's pen paused. "Careful, Mr. Carter."
"Just confirming boundaries."
The faintest twitch of a smile appeared at the corner of the professor's mouth before vanishing.
***
Two hours later, the board was full of half-solved expressions. Aryan dropped into the chair, exhausted but exhilarated.
Cowel examined the work, nodding once. "Not perfect. But significant improvement."
"Translation: I didn't embarrass myself."
"Not entirely."
Aryan grinned, rubbing chalk dust off his hands. "You're warming up to me, admit it."
"Like one warms to a persistent rash," Cowel said without inflection.
"Ouch."
"But one learns to treat it," Cowel added, gathering his notes.
Aryan laughed—genuine, loud, unguarded. It startled even him.
"Same time Thursday?" Cowel asked.
"Wouldn't miss it," Aryan said, and meant it.
***
Later that evening, Aryan sat in the empty campus café with his notebook open. The challenge problem still occupied his thoughts. He started sketching it again, quietly working through steps, the same curiosity buzzing in his chest.
His friends passed by and spotted him. "Carter, studying? Are we in an alternate dimension?"
He looked up, grinning. "Don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my reputation."
When they left, he went back to his notes, muttering to himself, scratching lines, erasing. For the first time, he wasn't just avoiding failure—he wanted to understand.
****
Meanwhile, in his office, Cowel sat surrounded by neatly stacked papers.
He'd spent years teaching equations that students memorized without meaning. Aryan Carter was different—undisciplined, infuriating, but alive with ideas.
He caught himself almost smiling. Then he closed the folder sharply, as if to hide the thought.
"Potential," he murmured. "If it doesn't destroy itself first."
The clock chimed softly in the quiet office.