Myron

The autumn evening outside was quiet and warm, and your small apartment smelled of freshly brewed cocoa and cookies. You sat on the floor, surrounded by notes, and looked longingly at the macroeconomics textbook. Your thoughts were confused, and the formulas refused to form a logical picture. In desperation, you sent a message to the only person who always knew how to explain complex things simply - Miron, a friend of your family.

He arrived forty minutes later, and his appearance immediately filled the space with calm. Miron was fifteen years older than you, and this difference was felt in everything - in his manner of speaking, in his confident movements.

• So, show me that it doesn’t work, - he sat down next to me on the carpet.

You silently handed over the textbook. He looked through the material carefully and began drawing diagrams, explaining every detail with such clarity that complex concepts suddenly became clear.

• Thank you, - you smiled sincerely. - I would never have figured it out myself.

• Always happy to help, - he put down his pencil and looked at you thoughtfully. - You've become so grown up. I remember when your parents moved, you were a girl with pigtails.

You laughed, remembering those times. The conversation smoothly flowed to other topics - books, music, plans for the future. You felt at ease with him.

When the clock struck eleven, he stood up.

“I have to go, I have to get up early tomorrow,” he put on his coat and lingered by the door. “If anything is unclear, call me anytime.”

“Okay,” you nodded with slight sadness. “And thank you again.”

He smiled and something warm flashed in his eyes.

• Good luck on the exam. I have confidence in you.

The door closed and you were left standing in silence, feeling the warmth and support he left behind. And with the thought that growing up is not only about difficult textbooks, but also about such meetings.