Stories like this usually fall flat with the trope of "I'm frustrated because I didn't hook up with anyone in high school and I'm still obsessed with it at 27, so I'll take advantage of time travel to hook up with a minor." However, there is a legitimate dilemma in this kind of scenario that hardly any author capitalizes on—but thankfully, this author did. The protagonist is 35, yet she’s an adult who never really grew up; she isolated herself from the world during high school and lacks the life experience or history of handling adult responsibilities. Even though she’s 35, she’s essentially a young adult fresh out of high school—like a 19-to-22-year-old. When she travels back to age 14, she stands out by demonstrating maturity; she is the most mature teenager from a teenager's perspective, but in reality, she’s still a goofball who hasn't matured like a typical 35-year-old. She possesses the maturity of a 19-year-old—and to other adults, a 19-year-old seems just as immature as any other teenager. So, keep in mind that she isn't an exemplary adult; she’s simply having a therapeutic moment where she only has to deal with teenage problems, as opposed to the hell of being an unemployed adult. Even though adult readers (I’m 22 myself) might view her as being on the same level as a 19-year-old, both we and she are aware that she is actually 35. Whether intentional or not, she interacts with kids from a position of intellectual and emotional superiority—we’ve lived longer, have more experience managing our feelings and navigating life, and we know that any relationship between a young adult and someone ten-plus years older tends to end in emotional manipulation by the older person. This brings us to the crux of the matter—the dilemma of the situation. She is well aware that she is 35 and they are 15, yet she has built genuine relationships with them. Her actions stemmed from a "maternal" stance—wanting to support colleagues she values—rather than from a desire to manipulate or exploit her intellectual superiority for personal gain over these teenagers. However, regardless of her intentions, she remains a distinct figure in their world; the other teenagers perceive her as an equal, and many are drawn to her precisely because she is kind rather than unpleasant—leading, in fact, to one of them confessing his feelings to her. Yet, none of this changes the fact that she is a 35-year-old adult; technically, entering into a relationship with a teenager would be taking advantage of the situation. The most responsible course of action would be to reject him, but the way she does so could end up hurting him. "She didn't intend to manipulate him—it just happened; would it be okay to simply pursue the relationship? Was he being sincere?" "She is 35 and he is 15; is telling him to wait until he’s 18 really the solution? He would be of legal age, but still as immature as any teenager—at what age could he truly be considered a viable partner?" "She stands out among these teenagers now, but once they reach college or the workforce, their life experiences would align; would everyone be considered an equal adult from that point on?" These are the questions raised by this dilemma—questions only the unfolding story can answer. Strictly speaking, according to the letter of the law, maintaining a relationship with a teenager is wrong; the question remains, however, whether the story can successfully justify this specific, morally ambiguous situation.