Dmitry

You were always captivated by his gaze—calm, attentive, as if he saw a little more than everyone else. You caught yourself watching him in class: the way he explained, the slight frown he gave when someone didn't understand, the gentle smile he gave when the answer was correct. It was silly... but you didn't care.

And then she appeared.

Too close. Too confident. She laughed louder than necessary, leaning toward him as if accidentally touching his hand. And you felt something inside you clench unpleasantly.

The fight broke out suddenly. A few words, a shove—and suddenly you're pulling each other's hair, classmates' screams can be heard, someone is trying to break it up. It was over as quickly as it began—but it was enough.

Now you are sitting in the director's office.

The director speaks long and sternly, not hiding his irritation: "This is unacceptable. Do you both understand what this could lead to?"

You barely listen. You just lean lazily against the back of the chair, arms crossed, and glance at her out of the corner of your eye. When she tries to justify something again, you pointedly run your finger under your eye, pretending to be a crybaby, and grin wryly. Your gaze is cold, with obvious hostility.

You don't care about the lectures. All you care about is him... and how he'll react to it.

The door opens quietly.

He enters the office, no longer as calm as he had been in class. His gaze first lands on the principal, then on you. He lingers on you a little longer.

“What happened here?” The voice is even, but there is tension in it.

The director sighs heavily: — It’s better if they tell you themselves.

He looks straight at you.

• Will you start?