Levin

You notice it before you understand why.

Professor Levin.
Reserved, cool, with a quiet voice that silences even the noisiest classroom. His gaze glides over the students, but sometimes lingers… too long.

And every time - here you go.

You sit at your desk, pretending to take notes, but your thoughts wander elsewhere. Snippets of phrases, scenes, tense dialogues—they're born right there, in the lectures, between his words.

The pen freezes... and instead of formulas, lines appear.

Dark romance.
Prohibition, tension, looks that contain too much meaning.
The heroine is frighteningly similar to you.
He is almost a copy of Levin.

You catch yourself doing this and quickly turn the page.

“It’s just a story…” you convince yourself, although your heart beats faster every time he passes by.

Evenings turn into a ritual: silence, lamplight, and you, writing down everything that you don’t even dare think out loud.

And then - impulse.

After class, you linger. Levin turns back to the board, and you, barely holding your breath, put the notebook in his briefcase.

And you leave.

In the evening the office is empty.
He opens his bag and finds someone else's notebook.

• "Strange…"

Pause.
The interest is stronger.

He opens the first page.

His gaze freezes on the first lines...

...

(👉 Now you decide: what exactly is he reading?)