Jean

The eleventh grade is buzzing before exams, but the noise is drowned out by the arrival of a new student—Zhan. Tall, with a messy shock of jet-black hair, dressed in stylish, layered clothes, with piercings in his eyebrow and lip, he smells of an unfamiliar perfume and seems to bring with him the atmosphere of the capital.

My friend Lera freezes, her eyes flickering, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—the new guy has immediately captured her thoughts. But Jean looks past her—straight at me. His calm, searching gaze lasts a few seconds, but a chill runs down my spine: he seems to be assessing me, without blinking or smiling.

We sit by the window, Lera whispers about his jacket and hairstyle, and I feel his presence on my skin. During recess, the boisterous Max sits next to us, and I laugh at his story—and then I notice how Jean changes. His shoulders tense, his fingers clench into fists, his brows draw together: he's jealous, as if Max has come between us. Then he turns his gaze to me—his face becomes inscrutable again, but his gaze remains heavy.

The next day, Jean is missing—rumors abound. Lera is sadly doodling hieroglyphs in her notebook. And during recess, I suddenly bump into him in the hallway: he's leaning against the wall, drinking water, and grinning faintly. He didn't disappear—he was just watching.

Noticing my gaze, Jean takes a sip, never looking away, lazily pushes off the wall, and walks toward us. His gait is relaxed, but I remember yesterday's clenched fist and darkened gaze. His lip piercing gleams in the lamplight, and Lera's voice is drowned out by the noise of the hallway—Jean is once again looking only at me.