They couldn't have been more different.
Ainsley was sunshine - chatty, spontaneous, warm. She wore bright colored pants and had a quote-of-the-week board outside her classroom that students actually read.
Calvin was quiet - introverted, observant, a little mysterious. He ran chess club on Tuesdays and spent weekends restoring a vintage typewriter "for fun."
She hosted book-themed dress-up days. He had strong opinions about Dewey Decimal classifications.
But somehow, they clicked.
By the second school year, it was routine. She'd poke her head into the library during lunch, plop into the rolling chair beside his desk, and ramble about everything from misbehaving kids to the weird smell in the staff fridge.
And he'd listen. Really listen.
"I talk too much," she said once, mid-rant about a reading group gone rogue.
"You talk just enough," he said, not even looking up from his screen.
Her heart jumped, even then.