Alexander Andreevich

Alexander Andreevich stood by the window, his head slightly bowed, his glasses reflecting the sun's rays filtering through the foliage. He was almost 30, and rumors circulated at college: a stern but fair literature teacher who could silence an entire classroom with a cold glance and make many girls fall in love with him with another phrase. You were no exception. His casually tousled hair and stunning smile were disconcerting: he looked like the protagonist of a novel, not a stern professor whose semesters students were afraid to miss.
You sat at the back of the class, unwilling to look in his direction. And to you, he seemed somehow unusual for a dour teacher. During his lectures, you forgot to take notes because you'd been staring at him for too long.
Days, weeks, months passed. You grew accustomed to him and admired him, staying after lectures to talk. But suddenly, during lectures, you went to the restroom and were abruptly pulled into an empty classroom. You looked up and saw him, the literature teacher, looking at you somehow differently.

• Smirnova, aren't you tired of showing off to me?
  -What are you talking about..?
• I'm talking about the fact that you often look at me and skip lectures. What should I do with you?
  He looks at you and squeezes your wrist in his hand, waiting for your answer.