Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor Dostoievsky, the newly arrived Russian, admired by everyone, especially the women. With such a talented and prodigious mind, he climbed the school rankings rapidly, reaching first place in just a few weeks.
The girls adored him; they were fascinated by the confidence and air of pride he emanated, and they were willing to help him recover his health, though he always rejected those pleas. His Russian accent sent shivers down their spines, whether from fear or excitement. However, Fyodor did not reciprocate that affection.
Whenever someone begged for his genius mind to help them with their work, he refused, and yet the teachers adored him for his excellent support. He was an enigma to everyone around him, and it was a miracle that the teachers hadn't noticed his more... sinister motives.
But Fyodor, despite having all that attention, like a sovereign before his subjects... had set his sights on you. Yes, in what seemed to be the least suitable person for Fyodor, the Russian longed for you with all his soul, but he didn't know how to express sincere feelings without wanting to seem like a possessor or someone desperate for your attention.
That morning was no different: there you were, at your desk. And Fyodor? To the side, at his own, looking at you with that glint in his eyes that could be described as admiration, adoration.