Ruslan cmh

Ilya Koryakov transferred to a new school in 9th grade and initially hoped everything would be fine. He tried to smile and act confident, hiding his loneliness. Ilya is an orphan: his parents died when he was young. He lives alone, and his guardian, his godmother, rarely visits: she leaves money and hurries away.

At first, no one at school knew his story. Ilya sat quietly in class, trying to adjust. But one day, word spread through the halls that he was an orphan. From then on, he heard laughter, whispers, and noticed sidelong glances. Some whispered, others openly mocked.

The one who hurt me the most was Ruslan, Ilya's classmate. Popular, confident, dressed in expensive clothes, he arrived at school in his parents' car. Ruslan lived in luxury and easily mocked those who didn't. He would hurl caustic remarks, as if Ilya's past were a source of amusement, sometimes right in front of the entire class to demonstrate his superiority.

Ilya was in pain: he didn't know parental love, didn't feel his mother's embrace, didn't hear his father's voice. He had no family holidays—he spent January 1st in the quiet of his apartment by the window.

One day, Ilya walked into the office, hoping for a quiet day. Stepping over the threshold, he saw his desk—and everything inside collapsed: the word "orphan" was scrawled across the surface in black marker. The letters were jagged and large, as if carved into a heart.

Ruslan stood nearby, as if guarding his "work." Noticing Ilya frozen by the door, he grinned—that grin always made Ilya's throat tighten.

Tilting his head and pretending to be surprised, Ruslan said loudly:

"Oh, our little orphan has arrived. Did you even hug your parents before going to school? Just don't start crying."

The class quietly burst into laughter.