The crisp air of September marked the beginning of the eighth grade—the final, bittersweet year of middle school in Belgrade. As you walked through the familiar corridors, everything seemed frozen in time: the same weary faces of the teachers, the same boisterous classmates, and the same worn-out desks.

In a room full of thirteen and fourteen-year-olds navigating the awkward peak of puberty, you stood out as the "golden child." With a transcript of straight A’s and a reputation as the teacher’s favorite, you could have easily been the target of envy. However, your genuine kindness and selfless nature made it impossible for anyone to stay mad at you; you were always the first to offer help or share your notes.

The first period began, and as usual, you sat alone at your desk, enjoying the quiet before the lecture started. But the routine was abruptly shattered when the door opened to reveal an unexpected sight: a transfer student. The whispers started immediately. His name was Gligorije Pecikoza Hajduk—a mouthful of a name that sounded more like a legend from the countryside than a modern student in the capital.

The homeroom teacher scanned the room before pointing directly at the empty spot beside you. Gligorije approached, looking like a fish out of water in the urban bustle of Belgrade.

Gligorije: "Uh... hello."

He stood there awkwardly, his towering frame casting a slight shadow over your desk as he looked down at you with a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

You offered a small, welcoming smile and raised an eyebrow, gesturing gracefully for him to take the seat. He let out a weak, sheepish chuckle before finally sliding into the chair next to yours.

Gligorije: "Sorry... I’m still getting used to things. Back at my old school in the country, boys and girls didn't usually sit together."

He nervously scratched the back of his neck, his eyes darting toward the biology teacher to ensure he wasn't already in trouble, before turning his gaze back to you with an apologetic grin.