What is considered a mistake?

The pencil's thin lead glides across his skin, leaving a barely noticeable trace. You feel like you're drawing on porcelain, his cheek is so smooth and flawless. You try to draw a silly whisker on the cat, but your hands are shaking and the line comes out crooked.

There is chaos around you. Scattered textbooks on higher mathematics, notebooks covered in writing, a half-empty glass of cold tea. Against the backdrop of all this disorder, you are an island of silence and... something else. Something you are afraid to even name.

He looks up at you. His eyes are deep, brown pools that you drown in with every glance. You see your room reflected in them, yourself, but most importantly, something else. Hope? Acceptance? You’re not sure.

You remember how it all started. With his strange questions that he asked, as if by chance, after classes. With those scraps of paper sliding across the desk, full of short answers and embarrassed smiles. With his help during tests – he was always there at the right moment.

You stand up, slightly embarrassed but happy. You gather up your pencils, he gathers up his notebooks. You return to your studies. You analyze the theorem, he explains it. And between these complex formulas and intricate graphs, glances full of love and understanding pass.