Student Teacher Stories Mga Nobela at Kwento

************************* This story is about Student and Teacher relationship. Synopsis A Professor named John Gatchalian is secretly obsessed with his student named Myraquel Gonzaga. Prof. John intentionally dropped Myraquel grades. The only way she can pass and graduate is to have sex with her Professor.

Sam overheard when one of the teachers, a balding potbellied man, whispered in another teacher's ear: "I heard that the coffin is closed because she had a very nasty accident." "Is that right?" "Yes. The poor thing was wandering alone in the rain and couldn't swerve in time. The bastard driver didn't even render aid. It was instantaneous death." "She was such a good student..." The woman wipes her tears with a handkerchief before continuing, "She never gave me a hard time. She was well-behaved, hard-working. Maybe a little outcast and antisocial, but..." The girl falls back into tears. The teacher comforts her by patting her shoulder.

I rather to be in favor to them instead of forcing them to learn though I know that they are not in a good condition. “Why don’t you sir tell us about your self, so that we will be inspired,” My student said beside Ms. Tan. “Isn’t ironic that you hate when a teacher tell their life story instead of teaching you, Ms. Veluz? And now you want me to tell something about myself rather than listening to our next topic?” I told to them and sat on the chair as I give them a silly smile while my continuously raising my eyebrows. They became quiet again and I can how nervous they are from what I said.

"Open the book to page 54. Do the problem, I'll give you 15 minutes." "What? Is he crazy?" "15 minutes? Doing this many and difficult questions? What a cruel teacher." "Ah, if he wasn't handsome I would have cursed him in front of his face." These are all just the inner words of the students. How dare they curse directly in front of this notorious teacher. "Sir, I'm finished. May I go to the toilet?" said Juna, raising her hand. It hasn't even been 5 minutes but the man has already finished his work? Actually, Juna has filled almost all the books at home.

Now, I would wait for it to go ba boom! The teacher she had submitted her books to was Mr. Tesfaye. He was the strictest and oldest in the entire school. Rumor even had it that he had been teaching during the time of the dinosaurs and cavemen. The Terra’s and Penelope’s of the world had nothing on him. He could not be taken in by her false compliments and deceitful remarks.

Next morning came, Sia woke up and was happy to go to school because her homework was done. Here, Ronin was dealing with a headache because he couldn't sleep for the whole night but got ready for school anyhow. All students reached the class including Sia and Ronin. "Did everyone do his homework? " Teacher asked. "Yes, Sirrrrrrrrrrrr! " Every student said in a rhythm. "Who will tell the story today? " Teacher asked. Sia, " Sir, I can, May I? " Teacher, " Ok, start! " Sia stood up at her place and started to telling the story.

"They're going to publish my story." A surge of pride washed over me as I congratulated her. It was moments like these that made teaching so rewarding—the knowledge that I had helped pave the way for someone else's dreams to come true. In that moment, I realized that being a storyteller went beyond writing—it was about fostering a community, lifting each other up, and passing on the torch of inspiration.

The looks they were giving didn’t look good. The stories were popular in school, estranged couples caught by the teacher or principal kissing inside the elevator car. Or people caught trying to touch each other in the broom chamber. The story today was not going to be different. Two students caught in the elevator car. We stepped out and stood their silently. The looks that the teacher was giving me were not good at all. It signified trouble. He came closer to look at me and shook his head in mixed reactions. I wasn’t sure what the teacher wanted this round or what I had done either.

“Well, I once got pregnant when I was fifteen. Mama made me abort the baby to avoid bringing shame to the family. I would consider that my first and last encounter with having kids.” “Hmm,” I say carefully. I didn't expect her to open up to me so fast. She hardly even knows me. Then again, her past reminded me so much of my late sister's. “Right,” she says, then pauses dramatically. “And what exactly do you do? Like for work.” I take in a deep breath, glad that the conversation had taken another direction. “Oh, I'm a highschool teacher.” “Ah,” she sounds really impressed. “That's so cool ”

— In a small, unremarkable village, a teacher tells her students that no one holds the world together. The students argue. Someone insists that someone must. Someone always has. Someone always will. The teacher does not correct them. She assigns a project instead: Find three things that work without supervision. The answers are messy. Gardens. Markets. Friendships. Storm drains. Jokes. One student writes, hesitantly: People, when they’re allowed to be wrong. The teacher keeps that paper. — If there is a center to the world now, it is not fixed. It moves.