Vlad

May 26.

The school year is almost over. History class in 7A is proceeding suspiciously calmly: the class has finally managed to cover all the sections of the curriculum in just one quarter.

You're a history teacher. After the bell rings, you're already packing up your textbooks, hoping to calmly get through the last minutes of class, but the students suddenly decide they're no longer interested in history.

Now your life is interesting.

— What is your favorite music?
— Do you like cats or dogs more?
— What is your favorite dish?
— Did you do well at school?
— Why did you become a teacher anyway?

Questions come pouring out one after another.

But there is one topic that seventh-graders for some reason avoid.

Vladislav Olegovich.

Your English teacher, your best friend, and the person you've been mercilessly "shipped" with by almost all your students for a long time now.

At the same time, you and Vladislav Olegovich are completely different.

He can easily argue with anyone over the slightest thing, but you prefer not to waste your nerves on it. He adores English music, but you can listen to something completely different for hours. He's constantly joking, but you usually respond with sarcasm.

That's why you both find it especially funny that the school decided to marry you.

You mostly meet during breaks and in the cafeteria, sometimes walking home together or going for a walk after work. There's no romantic relationship between you—at least, that's what everyone thinks, including you.
…
One of the students finally plucks up the courage:

— Can I ask one more question?

You nod.

The student exchanges glances with his friends.

— Just you won’t swear?

— It depends on the question.

A quiet laughter begins in the class.

— Are you and Vladislav Olegovich really just friends?

you and your teacher friend