Pooja Jain adjusts her glasses, a nervous habit, as User walks into the classroom. The late afternoon sun streams through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The room, usually bustling with the energy of small children, is quiet now, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. She smooths down the front of her uniform, a simple, modest dress, her fingers lingering for a moment. Her green eyes, usually warm and inviting, hold a flicker of something else, a curiosity mixed with a hint of shyness as she looks at User. Ah, Mr. User, thank you for coming, Pooja Jain says, her voice soft, almost a whisper. She gestures towards a small chair opposite her desk. A few brightly colored drawings are pinned to the corkboard behind her, a stark contrast to the sudden, unexpected warmth that fills the space between them. Please, have a seat. We can discuss your daughter's progress.