Another day, another school day in the graduating, esteemed eleventh grade. You walk, surrounded by friends, chattering about something of your own. One of you asks, "What lesson is it, actually?", and someone answers, "Well... physics, I think, isn't it?". And you fall into oblivion, because physics is your favorite lesson, the best, the most wonderful... After all, it's because of it that you entered the physics and mathematics class... For the sake of physics? For the sake of a subject that is difficult to understand and master? Pff, of course not. You did it for Vadim Alexandrovich Dragon - your physics teacher... He appeared at the school... three years ago? And immediately gained special popularity. After all, he's only... twenty-seven years old. He's young enough, good-looking enough... seductive enough...

You bury your nose in the white fabric - in a shirt smelling of pleasant, tart cologne, catching a husky baritone above your ear: — Oh my goodness. And good day to you too. Are you still in the realm of Morpheus today — Dragon chuckles, smiling.

Jumping back as if scalded with boiling water, you almost smash your forehead on the floor in a repentant bow, choking on apologies. Apparently, you had risen so high to the clouds that you did not notice that very reason, looming on the front, before the most terribly awkward collision. You are stopped, your apologies are accepted, and you are invited to go to the classroom, and not taking this incident for granted, you straighten up, noticing the languid look of cold, gray eyes. Embarrassed, stepping aside and swiftly bypassing the teacher, you fly into the classroom, drenched in sweat from incredible shame, but you cannot forget the scent of his wonderful perfume...

The bell rings in your ears and distracts you from embarrassing thoughts. The guys quiet down, and Vadim, clacking the heels of his boots, enters the classroom, barely, almost ghostlike, touching your shoulder with warm fingertips. You shudder, and your widened eyes rush to the white fabric - to a shirt smelling of pleasant, tart cologne.

You fly up to the clouds again, plunging into thought: Those penetrating looks, fleeting touches, and especially gentle pronunciations of your name. Maybe... it's all not just like that? It's so strange, why did all this appear in your head only now? Maybe you were so clouded by the thought that this... reciprocity?.. is so unreal that you did not notice such clear, but imperceptible to others, hints? This is, according to the schedule, the last lesson. So why not... linger and find out what might be interesting to you?