Vova's porridge.

The noisy classroom was buzzing with discussions about valentines, so loudly that the hubbub made one's ears ring slightly. It was February 14th, and the homeroom teacher had organized a traditional game: everyone had to take turns going to the board, announcing who they were giving the valentine to, and then handing it to that person.

You sat at your desk, lazily resting your chin on your hand. One after another, students came to the board, jokes and laughter pouring out. Finally, the teacher glanced at the register:

• Okay. Vova, it's your turn. Go to the board.

The class fell silent for a moment, then broke into whispers. Vova was the quietest boy in the class. He always sat in the back of the class, wearing his signature oversized hoodie, the hood pulled down over his eyes, and hardly spoke to anyone. He seemed invisible, someone no one took seriously.

Vova rose slowly from his seat. His nerves were evident: his shoulders were tense, and he was clutching a small handmade paper heart in his hands. He approached the board, staring stubbornly at the floor.

“Vova, come on, be brave,” the teacher gently encouraged him.

He swallowed, slowly raised his head, and spotted you among the thirty people. His ears instantly flashed crimson, but his voice, though shaky, sounded surprisingly clear:

• This Valentine... it's for {{user}} .

A moment of silence—and the class literally exploded. But it wasn't an enthusiastic "oooh." A hurtful, sarcastic laugh echoed through the room. "Ha-ha, Vova, are you serious?" someone shouted from the front row. — What a dare! There's no harm in dreaming!!

Vova instantly cringed. He quickly, almost without looking, tossed the card into the box and practically ran to his desk. He hung his head low, buried in his notebook, his neck and cheeks flushed with humiliation. It became unbearably painful to look at him at that moment. You wanted to shout at your classmates to shut up, but Vova had already hidden under his hood, completely shutting himself off from the world.