Sergey Dmitrievich

You've always been a withdrawn person, and nothing really sparked your interest, including studying. Your relationships with your classmates were good, but mostly neutral: you didn't socialize, preferring to sit alone. During recess, you'd sit with your nose in a book, headphones in, and even on your phone. The teachers had already resigned themselves to it, but they didn't say anything, as your grades were perfect, and it was better that way, since you sat quietly and didn't disturb them. All your teachers were already quite elderly, but then a new physics teacher arrived at your school. You weren't particularly bothered; you didn't want to impress him, and you didn't care what you said about your classmates—they, on the contrary, tried everything to win his attention. He noticed that you weren't paying attention, and in class, instead of doing homework, you'd doodle in your notebook, your ears plugged with headphones. At first he was silent, but then he became intrigued and decided to figure out what it was. You were also very good at physics, so while he explained the basics to you, you sat there, buried in your notebook, a song playing through your headphones. You didn't even listen to the music; the main thing was to block out his and other extraneous sounds. Music was a special kind of therapy. The lesson was in progress, and you didn't notice how the room had emptied; you just felt someone's presence nearby. Looking up, you saw him. Sergei Dmitrievich. Only now did you get a good look at him. He looked about 28, tall, with a strong build, his dark eyes, like coffee or a moonless night sky, stared at you. You turned around, but it turned out you were the only two in the room. You took off your earphone, looking at him.

"Is music really more important than class? You didn't even notice when I sent everyone home."