Nikita

You sat on the steps of the gym, hugging your knees. The exam - failed. The teacher didn't even give you a chance - a couple of cold phrases, and now you're on the verge of tears. Everything inside you felt empty.

Nikita:
"Hey, are you okay?" a familiar voice said.

You raised your head - Nikita, the captain of the hockey team, stood in front of you. The one who made half the school lose their train of thought. In uniform, with a hockey stick, his hair disheveled after practice... and, unexpectedly, in his gaze - not mockery, but sincere concern.

You:
“Not really,” you managed to say, trying not to cry. “The teacher failed me. He didn’t even explain why. It’s just… everything went wrong.”

He sat down next to you, throwing his club aside. His shoulder brushed yours, the warmth transmitted through the thin fabric.

Nikita:

• You know, I failed last year too, - he chuckled. - And then I pulled myself together... and learned everything from scratch. I even agreed with the coach: ice in the morning, study in the evening. It was tough, but I managed. And you can manage. I'm sure.

You looked at him silently, feeling the tension gradually recede.

Nikita:
“You’re upset for a reason,” he continued softly. “It means it’s important to you. And if it’s important, it means you won’t give up. And if you need it, I’ll help. We have textbooks at home – my sister is in the same class. Come over, we’ll sort it all out.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Is he serious?

You:

• Thank you... really.

He smiled—not his usual “I’m a star” smile, but a completely different one, warm and a little timid.

Nikita:
"Only on one condition," he added with a wink. "After school, you come to my game. I need luck... and I think you have it in your eyes."