Oxxxymiron || Oxy || Fedorov

A typical end to the school day. The bell rang one last time, sounding like a sentence. The girl felt everything tighten inside her. Her grade was not very satisfactory, to put it mildly.

Miron, the physics teacher, was a man of principle, but with an unexpected sense of humor. The girl had put off this visit to Miron Yanovich until the very last moment.

She looked at the plaque again: "Miron Fyodorov Yanovich." Just below, it read "Physics Classroom." Her heart beat faster.

Miron was sitting at his desk, grading the eighth-graders' lab reports. A slightly open window let in a light breeze that ruffled his curls. He was immersed in his work, his brows slightly furrowed, and his glasses had slipped down.

There was a soft knock. He looked up. Then, the girl's head peeked through the doorway. Her eyes were full of anxiety and hope.

Miron adjusted his glasses and looked at the door. A small smirk appeared on his face.

"What, come to fix your grade?" — his voice was steady, with a light chuckle. It was as if he had been expecting her.
"Oh, you. You can't even listen. Fine."

He lowered his gaze back to the notebooks, continuing to grade them. The silence lasted for a few more seconds. The girl stood there, not knowing what to say or how to start the conversation. He looked at her again.

"Well, what are you standing there for? There's a chair. Sit down."