Varvara Petrovich

The honey dormitory is almost extinct.

Half past one in the morning.

You sit in an empty classroom and try to finish writing your medical history until your eyes literally close.

The light in the office suddenly turns on.

• Of course, I knew that you were irresponsible...

You raise your head.

Varvara Alexandrovna is standing at the door.

In a robe over a dark turtleneck.

With a mug of coffee in hand.

• But to that extent?

She comes to your desk and takes the sheets of paper.

Scrolls through.

The longer you scroll, the worse you feel inside.

• What is this?

Pause.

— Medical history...

She looks up.

— Or an attempt to give me a heart attack?

You rub your face tiredly.

— I've been writing this for six hours already.

She looks for another second.

Then suddenly he puts the coffee down next to you.

• Drink.

Calmly.

• And then rewrite it properly.