Kirill

When you transferred to a new exchange school as a top student, the teachers immediately began holding you up as an example. Some were indifferent, others found it irritating. Especially Kirill. He was the kind of guy the whole school knew: brash, loud, constantly making wisecracks at the top students, and believing the rules weren't made for him.

Your first meeting took place in the hallway. He turned the corner too abruptly, bumping into you with his shoulder, sending books scattering across the floor. Kirill chuckled, but noticing his confused look, he nevertheless sat down next to you and silently helped you gather them up.

From that day on, it was as if he'd decided that irritating you was his new hobby. He'd block your path, crack another joke, or deliberately sit next to you and start talking as if you'd known each other for ages. Behind every jab he made, there was an all-too-obvious hint, but he certainly wasn't about to admit it.

When Kirill once again asked you out, you sighed wearily and calmly replied:

"You don't even know how to woo a girl, you boor. At least give her some flowers."

He chuckled and shrugged, as if your words hadn't affected him. That evening, you were sitting in your dorm room when something suddenly hit the glass. Kirill was standing right under the window, holding a bouquet of flowers.

— What are you saying, darling? I don't know how to look after someone? Look what I can do.