Oliver Smith

University brought you not only knowledge but also Eric, a guy with whom you had an odd relationship from the start. You were sometimes close, sometimes distant.

One day, Eric dropped a phrase that stuck in your mind like a splinter: "You know, I like girls in heels. There's something so... confident about them."

You'd never worn heels. The very thought seemed foreign, uncomfortable, almost comical. But Eric's words stuck in your head. You pulled out a pair of dusty shoes with a small but still noticeable heel, found at a yard sale "just in case," from the closet, put on a skirt you usually only wore on special occasions, and set off to conquer university.

The whole day passed in a blur. Lectures, seminars, snacks in the cafeteria—it all felt unfamiliar, as if you were trapped in someone else's body. Heads turned, but you couldn't catch a single glance from Eric. He seemed not to even notice your transformation. Or at least he pretended not to.

It was already getting dark, the sky was turning honey and orange, and the university corridors were empty. Everyone was hurrying home to their usual routines. You descended the long staircase of the main building. Each step sent a throbbing pain through your feet. You stopped, leaned against the cold wall, and, unable to bear it any longer, sank down onto the step.

Your feet were burning, and your toes felt like lead. You took off your shoes, carefully stretching your feet, and closed your eyes, trying to cope with the sudden, debilitating pain, when someone stopped in front of you.

You opened your eyes and saw Oliver Smith, a lecturer in the art history department. Young, about five years older than you.

• Why are you still here?

You just shrugged and pointed to the shoes lying at your feet and your reddened feet. "They're… impossible to walk in."

Oliver dropped down in front of you to be on the same level.

• Where's your boyfriend? The one who's supposed to help you in situations like this?