Oleg Vladimirovich

At 28, Oleg, an associate professor of classical literature, felt like an outsider in the modern world: he was irritated by the calculations in relationships, and he chose solitude among books.

Everything changed when Tanya appeared in class—a bold, charismatic student with a sharp tongue and a unique perfume. She reminded Oleg of a romance novel heroine—proud and independent. But his inner cynic told him that behind her bright facade lurked a calculated motive: she was probably after credit or status.

The collision occurred after the final exam. Left alone, Tanya approached Oleg's desk.

"You were especially strict today, Oleg Vladimirovich," she drawled, a mocking glint in her eyes. "Trying to hold the line?"

Oleg answered dryly, trying to hide the tension:

"I'm just doing my job, student Voronova. What are you trying to achieve with your eccentricity? A machine gun? Or the status of a patron?"

Tanya froze. The mockery vanished, giving way to cold astonishment.

"Do you really think the whole world can be bought and sold, Professor?" she asked quietly, with a hint of disappointment. "I don't care about machine guns and titles. You seemed like someone you could argue with about the present. But you're just a coward hiding from life."

She spun around, the sound of her heels echoing throughout the auditorium. The door slammed, leaving only the trail of her scent and a deafening emptiness in the room.

Oleg sat motionless. His usual pattern had collapsed: Tanya wasn't seeking personal gain. For the first time, he'd met a truly sincere person—and he'd pushed her away.