{NOTE: Images and links are used only as the reference to the character in the story}

"Do you know the new teacher is coming today?"
"Yeah, I've heard he is quite young."
The two girls were chatting in the back of the classroom. My friend Katrina turned to me and asked, "What do you think, Neha?"
"About what?"
"The new teacher, who else!"
"Well, I don't know. I haven't even seen him teach, only that he is late."

A new substitute teacher was coming because our previous teacher was on maternity leave. Our college, being an all-girls institution, rarely had male teachers. The few we had were old and strict. If this new teacher was indeed young and good-looking, he would undoubtedly become popular among the students. I wasn't particularly interested, though. Sure, a young and attractive teacher might be a novelty, but there were plenty of good-looking guys out there. Still, a change of pace was welcome.

"I heard some teachers talking about him. They said he looks unusual!" Katrina said.
"Unusual, huh?" I replied, now a bit curious. Still, he was quite late, and I was feeling sleepy from working late at my part-time job the night before.
"Hey, wake me up when he comes. I'll take a short nap," I said, resting my head on the table.

Just as I was about to doze off, I heard Katrina's urgent whisper.

"Hey, Neha, wake up! He's here!"

I slowly lifted my head, rubbed my eyes, and scanned the front of the room, only to see a girl with a big bun writing on the board. I turned to Katrina, about to ask where the new teacher was when she said, "That is him!" with her jaw-dropping.

The new Teacher with a massive bun.

"WHAT?!" I exclaimed.

As soon as I said that, the new teacher turned and introduced himself.

"Good morning, everyone. My name is Rohit Sharma, and I will be your new teacher for this class. Pleased to meet you all."

While we all greeted him, I was stunned. My eyes widened as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing. He looked like he had stepped out of someone's wild imagination. He was young, elegantly dressed in a clean white shirt and brown trousers. But what mesmerized me the most was his hair. I had never seen a guy with hair like that. The bun was massive, covering most of the back of his head, tied beautifully in a twist. Anyone could tell his hair was much longer than it appeared, but the quality was astonishing. As the daughter of a beauty Parlor owner, I could appreciate the care that had gone into maintaining it. His black hair looked healthy and shone under the classroom lights.

"His bun is so big! I can't even imagine how his neck can handle it," Katrina whispered.

"OMG, his hair looks so feminine. How long is it, really?" I heard some classmates gossiping.

As he moved to the desk and looked toward the classroom, I noticed his face properly. I had thought his hair would be the highlight, but I was wrong. He had beautiful dark brown eyes and androgynous features, enhanced by the lack of facial hair. He could easily be mistaken for a girl, but he wore his hair so gracefully that it was impossible not to appreciate it. I didn't know how long I had been staring at him when he started speaking to the class.

I was still lost in thought, unable to focus on what he was saying. My head started to hurt from the effort. Just as I closed my eyes for a moment, I heard a soft voice.

"Is everything okay, miss?"

I opened my eyes and looked up toward the voice that spoke to me. The new teacher was standing next to me, staring at me with a kind and worrisome expression. When I saw his face, my heart skipped a beat.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't sleep much because of my job, so it was getting a bit hard to focus. I'll try to be more attentive next time, sir," I said nervously.

Rohit smiled gently; his eyes filled with understanding. "It's alright, Neha. I understand that balancing work and studies can be challenging. Just try to rest when you can, and if you need any help catching up, feel free to ask. My door is always open."

He returned to the front of the class, continuing with the lecture. His words echoed in my mind, leaving me with a strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

Suddenly, the bell rang, signalling the end of class. I hadn't even noticed the time. As everyone started packing up and leaving, I carefully made my way to the table where the teacher was sitting. Now standing next to his desk, I couldn’t take my eyes off his head again. Up close, I could see his well-styled hair in more detail. It was a simple twisted bun, but it was done so meticulously that not a single strand was out of place. "His hair must be at least past his hips," I thought to myself.

After a few seconds, the teacher noticed me looking at him. He raised his head and looked straight into my eyes.

"Oh! Are you okay now?" he asked, a smile on his face.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," I stammered. "I just... your hair is really impressive. I've never seen anything like it."

Rohit smiled warmly. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

I nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "It must take a lot of time and care."

"It does," he admitted, then changed the subject. "Do you have any questions about the class or anything else?"

I shook my head. "No, I just wanted to apologize again for earlier and thank you for understanding."

"Anytime, Neha. Don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything," he said warmly.

As Katrina and I walked home, the conversation naturally drifted to our new teacher.
"I still can't believe it," Katrina said, shaking her head. "Did you see how everyone was staring at him? Not just because he's a guy, but his hair!"
"I know," I replied, my thoughts still lingering on the image of his perfectly styled bun. "I couldn't stop looking at it. It was so... mesmerizing."
"Do you think it's real?" Katrina asked, her voice filled with curiosity. "I mean, it looked so perfect."
I nodded. "I think it's real. Up close, you can tell it's well taken care of. It must be incredibly long."
Katrina giggled. "I can't wait to see what other surprises he has. Who would have thought we'd get a teacher like him?"
"I know," I said, smiling. "It's definitely going to make this semester interesting."
We walked in silence for a few moments, each lost in our own thoughts.
"Do you think we'll ever find out why he keeps it that long?" Katrina wondered aloud.
"I don't know," I said thoughtfully. "But there's definitely more to him than meets the eye. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
Katrina nodded, and we continued our walk home, my mind still buzzing with thoughts of our new, enigmatic teacher.

It's been a few days or months even; it was getting hard to keep track of time. At first, I thought I would not attend much college due to my job, but ever since the arrival of the new teacher, I have been trying to attend most of my classes. Rohit Sharma had a way of making each lecture captivating, and I found myself drawn to his lessons, eager to learn more. His presence had an undeniable impact on my attendance and, surprisingly, on my enthusiasm for college.

The more I saw him at school, the more my heart beat faster whenever I looked at him. Every time I had a class with him, I felt such anxiety in my chest.

Every glance, every smile, every word he spoke seemed to make my heart race. It was confusing and exhilarating at the same time. I had never experienced anything like this, and it left me both excited and scared.

One afternoon, after a particularly engaging lecture, I lingered in the classroom as everyone else filed out. Summoning my courage, I approached his desk.
"Sir, could I ask you a few questions about today's topic?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
Rohit looked up and smiled. "Of course, Neha. What do you need help with?"
As we discussed the lesson, I found myself relaxing. He was patient and kind, explaining concepts in a way that made everything clear. I noticed how his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm when he talked about the subject he loved.
After answering my questions, he leaned back in his chair. "You seem very dedicated, Neha. Balancing a job and college must be tough."
I nodded. "It is, but I enjoy learning. Your classes have made it easier to stay motivated."
"I'm glad to hear that," he said warmly. "If you ever need any extra help or advice, don't hesitate to ask."
A few weeks later, Rohit sir surprised us with an unannounced test. My heart sank as I looked at the questions. Despite my efforts, I found it hard to concentrate on studying due to my job, and I struggled to answer most of them. When the results came back, I was disappointed to see that I had not performed well.

After class, Rohit sir asked me to stay behind. My heart pounded as I approached his desk, expecting a reprimand.
"Neha, I noticed you didn't do well on the test," he began gently. "I know you're capable of more. Is something bothering you?"
I sighed, feeling the weight of my responsibilities. "It's just... my job. It's been hard to keep up with everything. I'm trying, but it's overwhelming."
Rohit nodded; his expression thoughtful. "I understand. Balancing work and studies are challenging. But remember, it's important to take care of yourself too. Overworking can lead to burnout."
He paused, then added, "Let me think about this. There might be a way to help you manage better without feeling so overwhelmed. I'll get back to you with some ideas."

During the evening, after receiving the disappointing test results, I was heading home from work on my scooter. It was quite late at night, and the streets were relatively empty. I stopped at a small shop to pick up a few things for home. While drinking some water beside the shop, I noticed someone in the distance, pushing his moped.

At first, I didn't recognize him. He was wearing casual clothes, so different from his usual neat and professional attire. As he got closer, I saw something that made me do a double-take—his hair was down, styled in a single braid draped over his shoulder, reaching down to his knees.

Rohit in Casual clothes and single braid

I was shocked. "Is that... Rohit sir?" I whispered to myself. The sight of his hair, so long and beautifully braided, was mesmerizing. I had never seen him like this, so casual and different from his usual polished self. He looked quite feminine in his casual attire but in a cute and positive way. The braid, combined with his gentle features, gave him an almost ethereal appearance.

He seemed to be struggling with his moped, pushing it along the quiet road. Summoning my courage, I approached him. "Sir? Is everything okay?"
Rohit looked up, surprised to see me. "Neha? What are you doing out so late?"
"I was just heading home from work and stopped to get some things," I explained. "Do you need help with your moped?"
He smiled; a bit embarrassed. "It seems to have broken down. I'm trying to get it to a mechanic, but it's a bit of a struggle."
"Let me help you," I offered without hesitation.

We pushed his moped together to a nearby mechanic, chatting along the way. Seeing him in this different light, outside of the classroom and in such a casual setting, made me feel closer to him. His hair, now visible in its full glory, added an unexpected intimacy to the moment.

When we reached the mechanic's shop, the mechanic shook his head apologetically. "It's quite late, miss. I won't be able to repair it today. You'll have to leave it here overnight and come back tomorrow."
Rohit sighed. "I understand. Thank you."
I looked at him, concerned. "How will you get home, sir? It's quite far from here, isn't it?"
The mechanic looked puzzled for a moment, then addressed me. "Wait, sir? Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were talking about the young lady here." He gestured to Rohit.
I stifled a giggle, watching Rohit’s reaction. He seemed taken aback but quickly recovered, nodding politely. "It's alright. Thank you for your help."
I turned to Rohit, trying to suppress my amusement. "So, how will you get home?"
He nodded, clearly thinking through his options. "Yes, it is. I'll manage somehow."
Impulsively, I spoke up. "Sir, why don't I give you a ride home? It's no trouble at all."
He looked at me, surprised and grateful. "Are you sure, Neha? I don't want to impose."
"It's no imposition, sir. I'd be happy to help," I insisted.
He smiled warmly. "Thank you, Neha. I really appreciate it."
As we rode through the quiet streets of Indore, we talked about various things—our lives, and interests, and even shared a few laughs. The night air was cool, and the city lights cast a soft glow around us. It felt surreal, riding with him, so close yet so far from the confines of our usual student-teacher relationship.
When we finally reached his place, he got off the scooter and turned to me. "Thank you, Neha. You really saved me tonight."
"It was nothing, sir. I'm glad I could help," I replied, feeling a warm connection growing between us.
"Before you go, let’s exchange numbers," he suggested. "Just in case you need any help with your studies or anything else."
I nodded, and we quickly exchanged numbers. "Thank you, sir. I'll definitely reach out if I need anything."
He smiled, a hint of concern in his eyes. "It's quite late, Neha. Please go home safely and get some rest. You have a busy schedule, and it's important to take care of yourself."
I felt a warm glow at his concern. "I will, sir. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Neha," he said softly, watching as I rode away.

As I rode home, my thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. The sight of Sir in his casual attire, with his long braid draped over his shoulder, was something I knew I wouldn't soon forget. I kept thinking about how I finally saw the real length of his hair, how it reached down to his knees in that beautifully styled braid. The image was mesmerizing and added a new layer to the intrigue I felt towards him.

I couldn't help but smile to myself as I remembered how gentle he was during the whole ride. His calm and considerate demeanour put me at ease, and the way he spoke to me with such kindness made my heart flutter. The memory of his soft voice and the genuine concern in his eyes stayed with me, making my chest feel warm.

And then there was his hair. The way he did his hair in a feminine, yet elegant, style fascinated me. It was something so unique and unexpected, yet it suited him perfectly. The braid, with every strand meticulously in place, showed the care and effort he put into maintaining it. I found myself admiring him even more for it.

My mind replayed the entire evening—the surprise of seeing him in a different light, the intimate conversation we had while pushing his moped, and the ease with which we exchanged numbers. It felt surreal, like something out of a dream.

By the time I reached home, I realized that my feelings for Rohit were growing deeper. This unexpected encounter had brought us closer, and I couldn't wait to see where this connection would lead. As I prepared for bed, my thoughts were still filled with images of him, and I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face, eager for the days to come.

The next day was a holiday, and I was enjoying some downtime in my 1 BHK apartment where I lived alone. I was halfway through watching a movie when my phone rang. It was Rohit sir number. Nervously, I answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Neha. This is Rohit Sharma. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
My heart skipped a beat hearing his voice. "Oh, hi, sir! No, not at all. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if you could do me a Favor. My moped is still at the mechanic near your place. Could you pick me up at the bus stop nearby in about an hour? I need to get there and collect it."
Excitement bubbled up inside me. "Of course, sir! I'll be there."
After ending the call, I quickly got ready and headed out. It was evening by the time I reached the bus stop. I scanned the area, looking for him, and soon spotted him walking towards me. He was dressed casually in jeans and a brown overcoat, looking effortlessly stylish. What caught my attention was his hair, tied in a single thick braid that swayed gently with each step he took. The braid was as long and beautiful as I remembered, reaching past his waist and swinging quite a bit, which made me giggle a little.

Rohit hair swinging while he was walking towards Neha.

"Hi, sir!" I greeted him cheerfully.
"Hi, Neha. Thank you so much for coming," he said with a warm smile.
"Not a problem at all, sir. Shall we go?"
We both got on my scooter, and I felt a flutter in my chest as he sat behind me. The ride to the mechanic was filled with easy conversation, and I couldn't help but sneak glances at his braid in the rearview mirror. It was fascinating to see it up close and in motion.
When we arrived at the mechanic, Rohit thanked me again. "I really appreciate your help, Neha. You're a lifesaver."
"Anytime, sir. I'm glad I could help," I replied with a smile.
While the mechanic worked on his moped, we waited together, chatting about various things. It was in these small moments that I felt our connection deepening. His gentle demeanour and the way he carried himself only made my feelings for him grow stronger.
As the evening turned into night, we stood by the roadside, waiting for the moped to be ready. The streetlights cast a soft glow, making the scene feel almost magical. His braid, illuminated by the lights, looked even more stunning, and I couldn't help but admire it.
"Your braid is really beautiful, sir," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
He chuckled softly. "Thank you, Neha. It's a lot of work to maintain, but I enjoy it."
"I can tell. It looks perfect," I said, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.
He smiled, and for a moment, we just stood there, enjoying each other's company. It was a simple yet profound connection, and I felt like we were slowly moving beyond the typical student-teacher relationship.

Just as the mechanic finished repairing Rohit's moped and we were about to leave, the sky suddenly darkened, and it began to rain heavily. Within moments, both of us were drenched.
"Oh no, it’s raining so hard!" I exclaimed, trying to shield myself with my hands.
Rohit looked equally surprised and quite embarrassed. "This is unexpected. We’re getting soaked."
I glanced around, but there was no immediate shelter nearby. An idea popped into my head, and I hesitated for a moment before suggesting, "Sir, my apartment is really close by. Why don't we go there and wait for the rain to stop?"
Rohit looked thoughtful for a second, a hint of embarrassment still on his face, before nodding. "That sounds like a good idea. Thank you, Neha."
We quickly hopped on my scooter and made our way to my apartment, the rain pouring down on us the entire way. By the time we reached, we were both completely wet. I led him up to my apartment and opened the door.
"Please come in, sir," I said, stepping aside to let him enter.
"Thank you, Neha," he replied, walking in and looking around, trying to hide his discomfort at the situation.
I grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom and handed one to him. "Here, use this to dry off a bit."
"Thanks," he said, taking the towel and patting his hair and face dry. His braid, now wet and heavy, hung down his back, water dripping from the ends. He seemed a bit self-conscious about the state of his hair.
I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the situation. "This rain really caught us off guard, didn’t it?"
He chuckled awkwardly. "It sure did. But I’m glad you suggested coming here. It’s much better than being stuck outside."
"Let me make some tea to warm us up," I said, heading to the kitchen.
As I prepared the tea, I noticed him looking around my small apartment, his expression still a bit uneasy but slowly relaxing. When the tea was ready, I brought two cups to the living room, where he was now sitting on the sofa, still drying off.
"Here you go," I said, handing him a cup.
"Thank you, Neha," he replied, taking a sip. "This is perfect for this weather."
We sat there, sipping our tea and listening to the sound of the rain hitting the windows. It was a cozy, intimate moment, and I felt a sense of contentment just being in his presence.
As we talked, I noticed Rohit shivering slightly. His clothes were still wet, and the chill in the air wasn't helping.
"Sir, you're shivering. I have a hair dryer you can use for your hair. And... I don't have any men's clothes, but I can lend you a t-shirt and pajama until your clothes dry," I suggested, worried about his well-being.
Rohit looked a bit embarrassed and shyly shook his head. "That's very kind of you, Neha, but I don't want to impose."
"You're not imposing at all, sir. I insist. You'll catch a cold otherwise," I said firmly, guiding him to the bathroom with the clothes.
After a moment of hesitation, he took the clothes from me. "Alright, thank you," he said softly.
He went into the bathroom to change, and when he emerged, he was wearing my t-shirt and pajama, looking quite out of place but also oddly endearing. I handed him the hair dryer and comb, and he began to dry and comb his hair.
As he undid his braid, I was stunned to see his hair cascade down. It was longer than I had imagined, reaching well past his hips. The sight of his hair down for the first time took my breath away. I couldn’t help but admire how healthy and shiny it looked, even when wet.
As he began to gently comb through his hair, I watched in awe. He looked so graceful, almost like a teenage girl meticulously taking care of her long hair. The t-shirt and pajama I had given him, combined with his long hair, made him look even more feminine.
The rain didn’t seem to stop, and I noticed a change in Rohit’s demeanour. From the confident teacher I knew, he seemed to transform into a shy, feminine guy. To change the mood, I brought out the tea.
We sat down with our tea, and he looked at me, a bit hesitant. Then, to my surprise, he asked, "You know, you are the only one who hasn't asked why I grew my hair this long."
His question caught me off guard, and I smiled gently, answering calmly, "Well, sir, I’ve noticed that you always change the topic whenever anyone brings up your hair at college or anywhere else. So, I thought maybe it brings up sad memories, or perhaps you’re not comfortable talking about it."
He looked at me, his expression softening, and a small smile appeared on his face.
I watched as he gently dried his hair, the strands glistening under the light of my living room. He moved with such grace, each motion deliberate and careful, as if he had done this a thousand times before. His long, dark hair now lay fully unbraided, cascading over his shoulders.
"You know, I was curious about your hair," I said softly, breaking the silence, "but I didn't want to hurt you by bringing it up."
Rohit looked at me, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and something else I couldn’t quite place. "That means a lot, Neha," he said, his voice calm and sincere. "Thank you for being considerate."

Rohit sitting on a chair with his hair down.

He gathered his hair, now fully dry, and draped it over his shoulder. The sheer length of it amazed me—it flowed down and almost touched the floor while he was seated on the chair. He took a few strands in his hand, twirling them thoughtfully before looking up at me.
"I think... it's time I told you my story," he said, his eyes meeting mine with a newfound resolve.
I felt a flutter in my chest. There was something incredibly captivating about watching him handle his hair with such elegance. It was almost as if he transformed before my eyes—no longer just my teacher, but a person with a unique story, someone who carried a hidden depth.
As he prepared to speak, his fingers continued to play with his hair, the gentle movements almost hypnotic. I couldn’t help but admire how well-maintained it was, each strand smooth and glossy. How could a guy have hair so feminine, so beautiful?