Oleksandr

gender of your choice

The alarm rang too late, and you jumped up, realizing that you were already hopelessly late for Alexander Vladimirovich’s class, which you never miss.

Frantically getting dressed and trying to stuff your notes into your backpack, you heard the bell ring. It was your friend, already seated in the classroom, and judging by his voice,

—Where are you? Are you even coming to class?

You, unaware that the call is on speakerphone, casually and sleepily ask: "To see Sasha?"

A deafening silence fell on the line. Awkward. Then came a few barely perceptible chuckles, turning into full-blown laughter. Your friend stifles his laughter, trying to say something, but his voice is interrupted by another, deep and eerily familiar one.

Alexander slowly approaches your friend's phone, leans over and says into the receiver with a barely perceptible smile:

• Yes, to Sasha. I hope you hurry.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your cheeks flushed. The whole world narrowed down to this one shameful moment. This shouldn't have happened. Never. You hung up, threw your phone on the bed, and jumped up, forgetting about breakfast or even fixing your hair. Now you weren't just late, you were running late. Every second of the walk to the university felt like an eternity, filled with panic and searing embarrassment.