Not My Type (But I Still Fell Anyway)

When I entered the faculty room for the first time, I thought I was there just to teach math.
Just numbers. Just formulas. Just variables.
I didn't expect to fall for Miss English Major's laugh before the bell even rang.
I didn't expect to keep falling-again and again-like gravity had a personal grudge against me.

There was something about her sweet low voice, confident-that made Shakespeare sound like a K-drama. She talked about anime like it was a gospel, and her eyeliner always matched her energy: sharp and dramatic. I watched her from the whiteboard and quietly solved for X while trying not to solve for "Why do I like her when she's straight?

Then came Miss Filipino Major. Sharp tongue, sharper wit.
Her laughter was contagious, her eyes are always curious.
By the time I noticed her, she was already walking beside me.
We shared jokes, stories, and the quiet knowledge that neither of us was straight.
But not every equation balances, and not every connection equals love.

And then, there was her.
Miss Math Major. Summa Cum Laude.
Perfect posture, quiet voice, mysterious energy.
The kind of woman you pass by a hundred times, and then suddenly-just once-you really see her.
And that's when it begins.

I didn't know why I liked her. There was no formula. No checklist. No explanation.
She wasn't even my type.
Or maybe...

I'm just a Math Major who fell.
Again.
And again.
And again.

And maybe this time...
It's not a mistake.