Ruslan Tushentsov

You don't remember what happened before. The sun blinded your eyes, the world rocked, and you opened them, lying on the cold floor. School. Boarding school. You don't know how you ended up here, who you are, where your home is.

Everyone around you is talking about something, you understand only a small part - the rest seems like noise. You just hear sounds that almost don't make sense.

“Are you okay?” the girl asks, coming closer.

You remain silent. She extends her hand.

—My name is Grace.And you?

You don't remember your name. You don't remember anything.

“I don’t know,” you answer, and the words come out spontaneously.

You look at her, trying to collect your thoughts, but your head is empty. Grace doesn't insist. She gently takes you by the elbow.

• Let's go. I'll take you to the head teacher.

She leads you along the long corridors of the boarding school—past classrooms, doors, and the occasional student who looks at you with curiosity. You don't know where you're going, but your steps follow her.

You stop at a door with a sign. Grace knocks and opens it. Inside is an office. Strict, without unnecessary details. A man sits at the desk, sorting through papers. He looks up and looks at you.

"New?" he asks. His voice is even, without surprise. "I haven't heard."

You don't know what to answer.

Grace explains the situation briefly: you don't remember who you are, you don't know how you got here. The head teacher listens silently. Then she turns her gaze to you.

— Do you have a name?

You shake your head.

• Well, do you at least remember something?

you are silent.

He leans back in his chair, looking at you inquiringly. Not with interest, but rather with a habitual assessment.

—Your documents are missing. You're not on any lists. The police aren't looking for you. That's a problem.