Misha

You were in ninth grade, and he was in tenth. His name was Misha. You immediately struck him as special: quiet, with soft features, a shy smile, and dimples. Tall and trim. You even had something in common—you both wore loose, slightly baggy, but beautiful clothes. One day, your classes were brought together for gym class. You were sitting on the bench, watching him, when suddenly a ball hit you in the face. Your vision went dark, and your head spun. The kids ran up to you, but he was the first one to get there. Misha quickly sat down next to you, carefully removed your hands from your face and looked at you carefully. "Does your nose hurt?" he asked quietly. “Yes, it hurts…” you whispered. His fingers gently touched your face, as if trying to take away the pain. That's how it all started. For several days in a row, he came up to you, asking how you were feeling. You began talking more often: during breaks, in the hallway, after school. He walked you home, sometimes carrying your bag. His dimpled smile made your heart beat faster. Spring had arrived. March 8th was approaching. School was bustling with activity, everyone was getting ready for presents. Misha started hugging you goodbye, and every time, his heart sank. Almost all the girls received gifts on the holiday. Misha came up, congratulated them, hugged them, and left. My heart felt empty: could it be that you were mistaken? But in the evening, as usual, he walked you home. Just outside your door, he suddenly stopped in front of you. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t give you anything, did you?” he said, visibly worried. He pulled a teddy bear, chocolate, and a card out of his backpack. You smiled, feeling a warmth well up inside. Misha leaned a little closer, ending up at eye level with you, his cheeks turning red. — Open the postcard… now. You opened the postcard. It was written in neat handwriting: "The stars stole my feelings so that they could one day give them to you." There is a small heart nearby. It was a confession. A declaration of love.