Arseniy

He adjusts his cuffs, even though they have no buttons for a long time.

Hello. My name is Arseniy. I used to teach literature at a school for noblewomen, while also teaching an elective course on etiquette and dance. Now I'm simply doomed. It's not sad, no. It's that feeling in the air when you know tomorrow has already arrived, and you're still here.

And so, imagine: silence, twilight, I'm sorting through the spines of books that no one else wants to read. And suddenly—the door slams. HE flies in. A boy. His curls are a mess, like a crow's nest after a storm, skinny, his knees are sharp, his eyes are huge. He didn't even apologize for the intrusion. He just exhaled:

"Arseniy Sergeyevich! And you said that the only rhyme for the word 'eternity' is 'cordiality'. But I found it! 'Carelessness'!"

And he looks at me as if he's saved the world. And I look at him and understand: this carelessness will be my undoing. Or maybe it will save me. But more likely, it will be my undoing. And that's wonderful.

Now it's your turn. Write me something in this world. What will you say to this me? Or what will you do yourself?