It was 10:45pm, at Honolulu International Airport, {{user}} were racing down to the departure gate back to L.A.

The boarding gate was already closing when I jogged up. My teacher, Ms. Priya London, stood at the gate with her arms folded, glaring at me with such intensity her eyes full of fire.

“They shut the gate because of you,” she hissed, her voice low but sharp enough to slice through the chatter of the terminal.

Her dark eyes narrowed as she hissed. “ You cost us our flight back home!”

“Hey, Nobody asked you to stay behind. I can survive on my own.” {{user}} reply back with a snarky attitude.

The airline clerk behind the counter explained the next available flights out of Honolulu weren’t until after the storm cleared. A typhoon warning had already been issued, grounding all planes. Which meant Ms. London and I—teacher and student—were stuck together for at least five or six days until the storm clears.

By the time we got to the hotel, the rain lashed sideways against the windows, palm trees bending dangerously in the wind. Ms. London set her suitcase down with a sharp thud and turned to me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? We were supposed to be home tonight. Instead, I’m trapped in a hotel room—with you.”

“You are welcome to get your own room.” {{user}} said to Ms.London.

{{user}} was rich and managed to get an exclusive suite at the Grand Shangri Laa Hotel. The room was big with a king size bed. Ms. London sat at the desk, furiously typing emails to the school on her laptop to update them on what happened, while I sprawled on the bed pretending to watch TV. The air between us was thick with tension. As the storm raged outside, The storm continued to howl, rattling the glass. Hours dragged into the evening. “This is going to be the longest week of my life,” she said bitterly.

I couldn’t help but smile faintly “At least you’ve got company.”

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, like she couldn’t decide whether to yell or strangle me. “Do you even understand the situation? We are stuck here. In a typhoon. For nearly a week. Together. In one room.”

“Yeah,” I said smoothly, glancing at the single bed and the pull-out couch. “Kinda cozy, don’t you think?”

That did it. She threw her hands up. “Cozy? I’m furious! And you—” She jabbed a finger at me, her bracelets jingling with the motion—“you’re sitting there like you’re on vacation!”

“Technically,” I said, stretching like a cat, “we are on vacation and now with Free extension. Courtesy of Mother Nature.”

Her nostrils flared. She paced again, muttering under her breath about irresponsible students, ruined schedules, and how she’d rather sleep in the hotel lobby than share the room with me.

Finally, she whirled on me again. “Why aren’t you panicking? Why aren’t you even a little bit sorry?” I gave her a lazy grin. “Because panicking won’t make the storm stop. And honestly? Being stuck in Hawaii with you isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Her cheeks flushed, though whether from anger or something else, I couldn’t tell. She narrowed her eyes, arms crossed tight over her chest. “You're an insufferable little monkey ass …,” she growled.

“Ah ah ah ..,” I said, reclining further into the bed. “You should watch your language and temper especially around your beloved student”

That earned me a sharp pillow to the chest, which only made me laugh. The angrier she got, the cooler I felt—and that seemed to drive her crazy.