I never thought I’d experience a parent–teacher meeting this early in life.

Dressed like I was going into battle—heels on, red lipstick perfect—I held my goddaughter’s hand and marched into the school with full confidence, fully prepared to verbally duel her new homeroom teacher.

My goddaughter was sweet, polite, and adorable.
How could a teacher possibly call her parent in?

The moment I pushed open the teachers’ lounge door, I came face to face with a familiar figure.

Me: “?”

…Was I hallucinating?

Why was my devastatingly handsome ex-boyfriend standing right there?!

“I’m sorry,” I said reflexively. “Wrong room.”

My goddaughter tightened her grip on my hand and whispered urgently,
“No, Auntie. This is my homeroom teacher. Mr. Shaw.”

Shaw. Julian.
My ex-boyfriend from seven years ago.

The same man I had broken up with in a fit of pride and cruelty.

The same man I had once declared to:
“Julian Shaw, whoever lowers their head first is a dog.”

I suddenly felt very… unsafe.

Julian Shaw looked exactly the same—sharp brows, handsome features, skin unfairly flawless.
Did this man drink preservatives for a living?

He glanced at me coolly, clearly recognizing me, and showed zero intention of greeting me.

My goddaughter poked my arm.
“Auntie, say hello.”

My scalp tingled.

“…Mr. Shaw.”

Julian frowned slightly, his tone professional and cold.

“You’re Vivian Yu’s mother?”

Well… not exactly.

“She is!” my goddaughter answered smoothly, not even blinking.

Julian let out a short, humorless laugh.
His gaze turned sharp as it landed on me.

“So that’s it,” he said.
“You dumped me back then because you already found someone else?”

Me: “……”

Great. Old grudges, revived instantly.

I crossed my arms, refusing to lose.

“Of course. Otherwise how do you think she got this big? You should thank yourself for supporting the two of us for half a year.”

Julian smiled faintly.
“No need. Consider it charity.”

…Excuse me?

Before I could retort, he placed a test paper on the table.

“This is Vivian’s exam.”
Math: 68.

“Third from the bottom.”

That hit harder than expected.

The kid wasn’t mine, but those grades were painfully reminiscent of my own academic history.

I cleared my throat.

“Mr. Shaw, grades don’t represent everything. Vivian is still young. She’s actually very hands-on and creative.”

Julian nodded slowly.

“Yes. Very hands-on.”

“The day before yesterday, she broke the math teacher’s mug.”
“Yesterday, she shredded her deskmate’s eraser.”
“And today—she fed the class goldfish until it died.”

Me: “……”

I instinctively gave the girl a thumbs-up.
“You’re… impressive.”

She smiled sweetly.
“Thank you, Mom!”

Me: “?”

Julian’s face darkened immediately.

“Lin Nuan,” he said slowly, “is this how you usually teach children?”

I swear on my conscience—I normally don’t teach at all.

Ten minutes later, I officially became the victim of a pig-headed teammate.

I was detained in the teachers’ lounge, writing a self-reflection as Vivian’s “biological mother.”

Julian had stepped out for other matters. I quickly texted my best friend.

Me:
Your daughter got called in. I’m trapped writing a reflection pretending to be her real mom.

She replied instantly.

Best Friend:
Thank you for your service! I’ll discipline her tonight!

I stared at the screen helplessly.

Honestly, she should discipline my ex first.

Vivian tugged my sleeve and whispered,
“Auntie, let’s escape.”

I glanced toward Julian’s desk.

Hesitated for exactly one second.

“…Go.”

The reflection was done anyway, and Julian looked busy. I was just being considerate.

The moment I stood up, his voice rang out calmly:

“Finished writing?”

Me: “……”

I dragged the kid back obediently.

“Yes. It’s on your desk.”

He flipped through it briefly.

“You still write reflections exactly like you did in college. No improvement at all.”

I frowned.
“Why would I need improvement? I don’t write these for fun.”

He gave me a faint, unreadable smile, slid the paper onto the bookshelf, and put on his coat.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Alarm bells rang.

“Go where?” I demanded. “You’re off work?”

“No,” he said calmly. “Home visit.”

My soul left my body.

“Home visit? Whose home?”

He smiled.

“Your daughter’s. Obviously.”

I nearly heard the grim reaper calling my name.

Before I could refuse, Vivian cheered happily:

“Great! Teacher’s coming home with us!”

I glared at her.

This child clearly knew she’d be punished at home and was using me as a human shield.

But kid—if you don’t want to die, don’t sacrifice your godmother!

I took a deep breath.

“Mr. Shaw… maybe we can discuss everything here. There’s really no need—”

“Oh, there is,” he interrupted gently.
“Understanding a child’s family environment is essential for proper education.”

“Don’t worry. This is my responsibility as a teacher.”

I wanted to scream.

The way he spoke—calm, logical, flawless—dragged me straight back to college finals week, when he used to force me into the library with the same tone.

Reason, morality, responsibility—he deployed all of it.

What choice did I have?

In the end, I could only grit my teeth—

…and bring my ex-boyfriend home.

Later that night, as Julian sat on my couch drinking water like he owned the place, he glanced around calmly.

“So,” he said, “this is where you disappeared to for seven years.”

I crossed my arms.

“And you,” I shot back, “became a teacher just to torture me again?”

He smiled faintly.

“No,” he said.
“I became a teacher.”

“Running into you again,” he added, “was just… fate.”

I hated that my heart skipped at that word.

Some meetings are accidents.

Others—

Are overdue.

Bringing your ex-boyfriend home is already socially unacceptable.

Bringing him home as your goddaughter’s homeroom teacher?

That should be illegal.

The moment we stepped into my apartment, Vivian kicked off her shoes and sprinted inside like she owned the place.

“I’m home!” she shouted happily.

Julian Shaw followed calmly, slipping off his coat, eyes scanning the room with an unsettling familiarity.

Too familiar.

Like he’d been here before.

Which—annoyingly—he had.

Seven years ago.

“You haven’t changed much,” he said casually.

I stiffened.
“Excuse me?”

“The couch,” he added. “Still the same layout. You always liked keeping things simple.”

I crossed my arms.
“I moved twice. You’re remembering the wrong apartment.”

He looked at me for a second, then smiled faintly.

“Then you kept the same habits.”

That smile was dangerous.

I pointed toward the dining table.
“Sit. Talk. Leave.”

Efficient. Civil. Emotionless.

Julian raised an eyebrow.
“That’s how you treat guests?”

“You’re not a guest,” I replied coolly. “You’re a… professional obligation.”

Vivian, sitting cross-legged on the floor, raised her hand enthusiastically.

“Teacher! Auntie makes the best cocoa!”

Traitor.

Julian glanced at me.
“I’d love some.”

“No,” I said instantly.

“I insist,” he replied politely.

Five minutes later, I was in the kitchen, aggressively stirring cocoa like it had personally betrayed me.

Why did this man still have the same effect on me?

I placed the mug in front of him with a dull thud.

“Drink. Then talk.”

Julian took a sip, eyes softening slightly.

“…Still too sweet.”

I froze.

That used to be his exact complaint.

I snapped back, “You’re here for a home visit. Focus.”

He set the mug down and finally shifted into teacher mode.

“Vivian is bright,” he said calmly. “Curious. Creative.”

“She just lacks boundaries.”

I sighed.
“She’s not a bad kid.”

“I know,” he said. “Bad kids don’t look at the world like it owes them wonder.”

That… surprised me.

Vivian peeked out from behind the sofa.

“So I’m not in trouble?”

Julian smiled gently.
“You are.”

“But you’re also honest,” he added. “That matters.”

She grinned and promptly ran to her room.

The apartment fell into silence.

Too quiet.

Julian leaned back slightly.
“So,” he said, turning to me. “You became a parent.”

“Godmother,” I corrected. “Temporary guardian. Emergency substitute.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

I laughed dryly.
“You didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address.”

He studied me for a moment.

“You could’ve reached out.”

“So could you.”

Touché.

The air thickened.

“I heard you moved abroad,” he said finally.

“I heard you got engaged,” I replied.

He stiffened.

“…That didn’t happen.”

“Oh.”

An awkward pause.

Then—

“Why did you really leave?” he asked quietly.

I swallowed.

Because seven years ago, he had been too good.

Too stable.

Too sure of the future.

And I had been… scared.

“I didn’t want to become someone who needed you,” I said honestly.

His jaw tightened.

“And now?” he asked.

I met his eyes.

“I learned the hard way that independence doesn’t mean loneliness.”

Something flickered in his gaze.

Regret? Relief?

Or hope.

He stood up slowly.

“I’m not here to reopen the past,” he said. “But I won’t pretend I don’t remember it either.”

He picked up his coat.

“This was a professional visit,” he added lightly. “I’ll file my report.”

At the door, he paused.

“Lin Nuan.”

“…Yes?”

“If you ever need help,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to lie about being alone.”

Then he left.

I stood there long after the door closed, heart pounding like I’d just lost—and found—something important.

From the hallway, Vivian’s voice floated out:

“Auntie…”

“…Is Teacher Julian your ex?”

I closed my eyes.

“…Go to bed.”

The rumors started on Monday.

By Wednesday, the entire school believed Vivian Yu’s mother was secretly dating her homeroom teacher.

By Friday, even the security guard greeted me with a knowing smile.

I stood outside the classroom, arms crossed, staring at Julian Shaw through the glass window as he explained math with effortless patience.

Seven years ago, I had loved him for this calm certainty.

Seven years later, it still hit me square in the chest.

“Mom!” Vivian ran over, hugging my leg. “Teacher Julian said I improved!”

Julian stepped out behind her.

“She did,” he said. “She learned restraint.”

I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s a miracle.”

He smiled—soft, familiar, dangerous.

“People change.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “They do.”

That afternoon, he asked me to stay behind.

Not as a teacher.

Not as an ex.

Just… Julian.

“I’m leaving this school next semester,” he said suddenly.

My heart dropped.

“…Why?”

“I was offered a position abroad,” he said. “I planned to take it.”

I forced a smile.
“Congratulations.”

“But,” he continued, eyes steady on mine, “I turned it down.”

I looked up sharply.

“Why?”

“Because seven years ago, I lost you once,” he said calmly.
“And I won’t walk away twice without asking.”

The hallway was empty. Sunlight streamed through the windows.

“Lin Nuan,” he said, voice low, sincere.
“I don’t want to be your past anymore.”

“I don’t need you to depend on me.”
“I just want to walk beside you.”

For a moment, the world went quiet.

I thought about the girl I used to be—too proud, too afraid to stay.

Then I thought about the woman I had become.

“I won’t promise perfection,” I said.
“I won’t promise forever right away.”

Julian smiled.

“I’m a teacher,” he said. “I’m very good at waiting.”

I laughed—and cried a little.

Vivian stood on stage, holding a small trophy.

“Thank you,” she said proudly into the microphone, “to my mom and my teacher.”

The audience laughed.

Julian sat beside me, his hand warm around mine.

“You realize,” I murmured, “we traumatized an entire school.”

He leaned closer.
“Worth it.”

After the ceremony, Vivian ran off to her real mother.

Julian turned to me.

“So,” he said casually, “dinner tonight?”

I smiled.

“Only if you promise not to grade my cooking.”

“No promises,” he replied.

We walked away together, slow and steady.

No dramatic vows.

No rushed endings.

Just two people who had grown up enough—

To choose each other again.