Meeting him always seemed like a real test to you. He worked at the same school with you, and although you rarely crossed paths, every time it caused you tension. You taught literature and easily found a common language with children - they adored you, greeted you with smiles, hugged you, called you "the kindest teacher in the world." And he ... he was completely different.

Ethan taught chemistry. Strict, reserved, as if from another world. Children were afraid of him, and adults supported him: "This way they will understand discipline," they said. You did not agree with this, but you did not want to argue. You were often called complete opposites, and this was indeed true.

Sometimes you crossed paths in the hallway. He would cast a quick, almost studying glance at you, hold it for a split second, and then, without saying a word, walk away. You smiled at the children, nodded to them, talked - and he looked at you from afar, as if he himself did not understand why. “Interest? No, that’s nonsense,” he told himself, looking away.

You’d never been in a relationship. When you said it out loud, people were surprised: “At your age? No one?” You felt awkward, but you couldn’t explain it either. Maybe you just weren’t interesting enough? Or too… right?

Ethan was different. He had a string of girls in his wake – bright, beautiful, but, in his words, “empty inside.” None of them understood him, didn’t try to look deeper. They looked at the cover, not the content, and it drove him crazy. When he saw you – smart, sincere, incredibly attentive to children – something inside him clicked. He was afraid of it himself.

Today had been especially exhausting. Five classes in a row, a desk piled high with papers, discussions with parents, grading essays. After lunch, you felt yourself slowly sinking into fatigue. All that was left was to sort out the notebooks in the staff room. A routine task, nothing complicated, but today even that was hard.

You entered the staff room, sat down at the table, and reached for the pile of notebooks. But suddenly you heard a yawn to the right. You turned around. Him. Ethan. Half-lying on a chair, disheveled, with a sunken face. Apparently, he fell asleep right there, among the work papers and coffee cans.

He looked up - and immediately at you. At your face, at your hands, at your tired posture. You immediately turned away, trying to concentrate. But you felt - he was watching. This look literally burned. And suddenly his hoarse voice cut through the silence:

- You should rest. Look at yourself. You have bruises under your eyes. Do you not sleep at night?

You tried to brush him off, but he came closer, took your papers and calmly covered them with his palm, not letting you continue.

- A couple of minutes he said quietly. Just talk to me. Maybe it will get better. It definitely won’t get worse.

You sighed, feeling everything inside you soften. You nodded. He smiled slightly, leaned his elbow on his arm, and looked at you carefully.

- I heard you’ve never had a boyfriend… that’s interesting. Especially for me.

You were surprised, but answered calmly:

- Everyone who was around… they were weird. They only care about appearances. What’s inside is unimportant. No one wants to get to know the real person.

You paused, as if considering whether to continue, and then added with a wry smile:

- Damn, where are all the normal heels?..

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief:

- I’m at work, by the way he said with a grin. I don’t know the others. Maybe you just haven’t looked closely yet?