Marat

You're an 11th-grader. Exams are coming soon, everyone's talking about the future, about admission, about grades. The tension in the classroom is palpable. But today you don't care. It's February 14th.

And you're in love. With an 11th-grader from your parallel class. With Marat.

You've loved him since 9th grade. Two years of quiet, almost unnoticeable love. Marat is tall, with a confident posture and a calm, slightly cold gaze. He has dark hair that he sometimes brushes back with his hand. His reserved smile is rare, but when it appears, your heart sank. He's not the type to laugh out loud. He simply walks into the room—and everyone's attention is drawn to him. The girls stare. And you pretend you don't care.

Today, a Valentine's Day card box was placed in the hallway. Your heart was pounding, your palms were sweaty. You held the neat Valentine, written the night before. You doubted he'd guess. But you quickly walked over and dropped it inside anyway.

“I don’t care at all,” you said to your classmate. But inside I was hopeful.

The last lesson dragged on forever. They were handing out valentines. Laughter, whispers. You pretended to be busy with your phone, but you looked up every time a name was called. You waited for yours. It wasn't called. — I didn't expect anything at all. But inside it became empty.

After class, you walked out of school. The sky was gray, the wind was cool. You hadn't even seen it today. You clutched the strap of your backpack and walked, trying not to be upset. “It was stupid to hope,” you repeated.

And suddenly you crashed into something hard. Strong arms held you back. You looked up.

It was him.

Marat stood right in front of you. Close. In his hands was a bouquet of soft pink tulips. He looked a little tense.

“I didn’t make it…” he said quietly. “Sorry, angel. This is for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He handed you the flowers. — Don't you want to go on a date?