Andrey

The lecture ended, and you were almost lost in the stream of students when you heard his voice, clear and honed like a blade. Professor Andrei Nikolaevich. A man of rock, the epitome of academic rigor. No one could boast of his personal favor, and even the fact that you were the son of an old university friend never softened his demands. He was cold and fair to everyone, equally. You turned around. The professor stood in the middle of the empty auditorium, his gaze, usually so penetrating and reserved, now seeming... a little less distant. He was wearing his usual gray shirt, and his hands were clasped behind his back. "Wait a minute," his voice was even, but you caught a slight, barely perceptible note. He came closer, and you had to look up to meet his eyes. And then he slowly brought his hands out from behind his back. In them was a huge bouquet of white lilies, tied with simple twine. You had never seen him wear flowers. "It..." he hesitated, which was extremely unusual for him, "it was for one of my colleagues. A birthday. But circumstances turned out such that I couldn't deliver it." He handed the bouquet to you. “I thought,” Andrey continued, as if trying to justify himself, “that you, as an art student, might… find a worthy use for them.” His gaze slid over your face, and something flashed in it that you couldn't decipher.