At school, our literature teacher was a real devil — strict, cold, and always looking for ways to assert her power. One day during class, she noticed a small notebook on a girl’s desk. Without a word, she marched over, snatched it up, and flipped through the pages. It wasn’t a notebook at all. It was her personal diary. A cruel smile spread across the teacher’s face. “Let’s see what’s so important it couldn’t wait,

until after class,” she said, and began reading aloud. We all froze. The girl sat motionless, her face burning red, eyes wide with panic as the teacher recited her private thoughts like some twisted performance. No one dared,

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