The stuffiness in the classroom was at its peak-the air was heavy, still, as if saturated with dusty absorbent cotton. It stood between the walls, unmoving, preventing me from taking a full breath, as if it were watching every movement, every word. The curtains trembled in the draught, and the sun, breaking through the murky glass, split into rays in which the dust swirled slowly, giving the whole scene an almost theatrical unreality.

Francis leaned lazily back in the creaky chair, stretching out his legs and throwing one of them carelessly over the other. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, which was too tight for such a hot day, and ran his finger over the fogged glasses. A characteristic, slightly ironic smile blossomed on his face, the same smile with which he usually watched the people around him as if he were not even a part of what was going on. His movements were tired, but not physically - more like a deep, weary boredom, bordering on irritation. His gaze slid around the corners of the room - the darkened bookshelves, the ancient bust, the gleaming glass of the water carafe - and lingered somewhere in the distance, in the void between the words that sounded in the classroom.

October was strangely warm this year-almost alarmingly warm. Instead of the usual freshness, it brought a lingering, sticky heat, under which everything seemed to be in a slow, lingering dream. The sparse leaves, colored in dull yellow, faded tones, fell reluctantly from the trees, spinning languidly in the air. They lay on the ground in a dim carpet, like gilding that had lost its luster. Autumn breathed outside the windows, but it breathed too hot, too close, as if the world had stalled somewhere between seasons and didn't know where to go next.

And everything about the day seemed unnatural-in the silence, in the heat, in the dim light, in the slow movements, in the glances that never met. It was as if an invisible film stretched over the room, hiding something important from view, a foreboding - vague as the sound of a distant train or the smell of rain in the dry air. A strange uneasiness lurked in Francis's chest-unreasonable, clammy, like the remnants of a dream you can't remember but can't forget.