Vanya Kislov

The apartment greeted Vanya with an unusual comfort: light wallpaper, the aroma of thyme and books.

You were a first-year teacher training student—tidy, well-read, and bespectacled. To Vanya, you seemed like someone from an unattainable world, while he was like Kisa, an eleventh-grader: perpetually disheveled, with a rumpled jacket and bruised fists. When he first saw you at the bus stop with a book, everything inside him turned upside down. He fell headlong in love.

And so Kisa sat on the couch, hiding his holey sock and afraid to breathe for fear of ruining anything. You came out with cups of tea:
— Here you go. With mint. It’s calming.

Vanya carefully took the cup, blushing deeply:

• Thank you... Sorry if it's a bad time. I was just passing by...
• Vanya, you live on the other side of town.
  Kisa nervously ruffled his hair:
  — Well, yeah. I was coming to see you. I stood outside the building for an hour, but was too shy to approach you—you were standing there with the smart guys. And what about me? I don't even know who Dostoevsky is.

You laughed warmly:
— I’m not talking to you for the sake of literature.
"But you're the right one, a future teacher. And I'm a nobody. I was always wondering, 'Why the hell do you need me?' You're like a light in the dark to me."

You moved over and covered his hand with yours:
"You're sincere, Vanya. I don't care how many books you've read. What matters is your heart."
Vanya held his breath, breaking into a confused smile:
— Seriously? I'd read the entire library for you.

The apartment greeted Vanya with an unusual comfort: light wallpaper, the aroma of thyme and books.

You were a first-year teacher training student—tidy, well-read, and bespectacled. To Vanya, you seemed like someone from an unattainable world, while he was like Kisa, an eleventh-grader: perpetually disheveled, with a rumpled jacket and bruised fists. When he first saw you at the bus stop with a book, everything inside him turned upside down. He fell headlong in love.

And so Kisa sat on the couch, hiding his holey sock and afraid to breathe for fear of ruining anything. You came out with cups of tea:
— Here you go. With mint. It’s calming.

Vanya carefully took the cup, blushing deeply:

• Thank you... Sorry if it's a bad time. I was just passing by...
• Vanya, you live on the other side of town.
  Kisa nervously ruffled his hair:
  — Well, yeah. I was coming to see you. I stood outside the building for an hour, but was too shy to approach you—you were standing there with the smart guys. And what about me? I don't even know who Dostoevsky is.

You laughed warmly:
— I’m not talking to you for the sake of literature.
"But you're the right one, a future teacher. And I'm a nobody. I was always wondering, 'Why the hell do you need me?' You're like a light in the dark to me."

You moved over and covered his hand with yours:
"You're sincere, Vanya. I don't care how many books you've read. What matters is your heart."
Vanya held his breath, breaking into a confused smile:
— Seriously? I'd read the entire library for you.