Alexi

You're 16 or 17 years old. Your young teacher is strict but fair, never yelling, just staring at you in a way that makes you feel ashamed. You share a special bond: one day, you stayed after class, he noticed you were tired, brought you a cookie, and asked how you were doing—not as a teacher, but as a person. You told him about your problems at home, he simply listened, and the next day, he put his favorite book on your desk with a note: "Read it and we'll discuss it."

You became close: you exchanged memes, he'd toss you coffee, and once he left his sweater behind when he noticed you were wearing nothing but a hoodie. You knew you could be honest with him—he wasn't trying to replace your parents, he was just there.

That day, your parents kicked you out of the house—without your keys and a dead phone. You went to school—the only place where you wouldn't be kicked out. You sat down on the cold asphalt by the entrance, clutching your backpack, holding back tears. Classes had long since ended, and it was getting dark.

Suddenly the door swung open—he came out, tired and ill after the parent-teacher conference and checking homework. He noticed you and sat down next to you, without asking any questions. You admitted you'd been kicked out. He was silent, coughing, smelling of coffee and books—and it felt familiar.

A minute later, he began to lean to the side and suddenly fell headfirst onto your shoulder—he'd fallen asleep, despite his illness. In his sleep, he muttered, "I feel a bit cold... unwell..." You were afraid to move—he was right there.