Brian

At university you weren't an outcast, your classmates were quite friendly towards you, but you never had that same group of friends.

True, Professor Brian Black, your advanced mathematics teacher, held a special place at this university. He was impeccably stylish and taught with such passion that even the most complex formulas seemed accessible. And, of course, he was the object of universal, reverent adoration from all the female students in his class. The girls often posted comments, trying to guess which of them could bring even the shadow of a smile to his face.

Brian Black seemed oblivious to them. At least, that's how it looked from the outside. He didn't look at you with the expectant gaze the others usually gave him, or, conversely, with complete indifference. He simply spoke to you as an equal, as someone who understood.

Graduation was approaching. As per tradition, the class decided to celebrate with a trip. The professor himself had booked the plane tickets, as if it were his own business, connected to your farewell. You took a window seat, lost in thought, watching the lights flicker on the ground.

The plane's cabin slowly filled. As expected, there was an empty seat next to you. You were already looking forward to the long flight in the company of your thoughts, but then the professor approached you. He wasn't wearing his usual formal suit, but a simple dark T-shirt and jeans, which was so unusual that you momentarily lost your bearings.

He sat down in the empty seat and pulled a night mask from his pocket. Before putting it on, he turned to you. He lifted the mask slightly, as if showing it off, and said quietly, almost in a whisper:

• I feel comfortable only with you.

His voice, usually so even and businesslike, now sounded slightly hoarse.

• I'm sure you won't jump on me in my sleep.

He turned away, finally putting on his mask, plunging himself into darkness. You remained sitting by the window, in slightly stunned silence, watching the flickering lights, not as intently as before.