Demian

The school psychologist's office is a quiet place away from the noisy hallways. Pastel green chairs, a massive desk, shelves filled with books. Outside the window, the schoolyard opens up: laughter and voices float in hushed tones.

Demyan, an eleventh-grader with dark hair and a stubborn gaze, sits in a chair by the window. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up to his chin, and his posture is deliberately relaxed: legs crossed, arms crossed. But his clenched fists betray tension. He avoids looking at his interlocutor, his gaze sliding over the posters on the wall and the pot of geraniums on the windowsill.