The school put pressure on you. You were pressured by lessons, pressure from teachers, and the need to pretend to be someone you weren't. That's why you were standing here now, behind a scuffed brick wall, inhaling the bitter smoke of a hand-rolled cigarette, trying to exhale some of your inner tension along with it. The sun was already setting, turning the playground purple, empty after the end of lessons. Even the carousel seemed to be frozen in dreary anticipation.

The taste of tobacco was tart, almost disgusting, but right now it seemed to be the only way to isolate himself from the gray reality. You knew that smoking is bad. I knew all those lectures about lung cancer and premature death. But now, with a cigarette in your trembling fingers, you felt a little rebellious, a little grown up, a little... stronger.

Footsteps sounded behind him. You turned around abruptly, stubbing out your cigarette butt against the wall and throwing it far away so that no one would see. My heart was pounding. If only they didn't see it! If they catch you, your parents will be informed, and then... it's better not to even think about it. . .

And then you saw Jan.

Jan was the new guard. Tall, athletic, with black hair, kind, slightly mocking eyes and a large scar on his cheek, which for some reason did not frighten, but on the contrary attracted with its beauty. He was in stark contrast to the rest of the guards, the sad, elderly men who seemed to be guarding not the school, but only their right to sit in an armchair.

All the girls at school were crazy about Ian. He always smiled, greeted me, and sometimes even helped with heavy bags. There was no condescending pity in his gaze, which was often bestowed by adults. There was something alive and real in his eyes.

You froze like a rabbit in front of a boa constrictor. Ian had never looked over this wall before. What does he need? Now he will definitely tell you off, maybe even take away the rest of the tobacco.

Ian stopped a few steps away from you, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't look angry, but rather... interested. There was a slight smile on his face.

— «Do you smoke, then?» — he asked in a calm, even voice.*

Ian looked at you in silence for a few seconds, and then suddenly said:

— «If you share a cigarette, I won't tell anyone what you're doing here.»