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All characters, locations, and events mentioned in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental and is not intended to violate any rights or reflect reality.
I was sitting in World Literature class while Ms. Olha argued with one of my classmates about some absurdly intellectual topic, which gave me the perfect opportunity to read my book instead of paying attention.
Opening the file titled The Cruel Prince by Holly Black on my school tablet, I immediately got sucked back into the story of Jude crowning a prince while Cardan proved, for the fifteenth time, that he was an absolute idiot — and that was only the beginning of the book.
Don’t ask what exactly influenced my choice of reading material or my questionable way of spending class time. If the last thing you willingly read was *Tom Sawyer* in fifth grade, then honestly, I have no questions for you.
Oh right, where was I going with this?
Yeah. School.
A painfully boring topic, unfortunately responsible for nearly half of my daily existence. So yes, there will definitely be more school-related suffering in this story.
Anyway, next class was PE.
And internally, I was howling like a wolf at the moon.
For context: I absolutely hate physical education. Maybe it’s because of the ancient hag who taught it in middle school, or maybe because of our tenth-grade PE teacher whose jokes made everyone’s ears shrivel up in embarrassment. Either way, all of that left me with a deep dislike for the subject.
Just make a mental note of that. It’ll matter later.
Our school bell — some random song I never remember the name of — started playing. Which is exactly why, when I first heard it in the opening episode of Supernatural, I physically flinched from the association.
So, off to the locker room we go — all the way down to the basement.
The girls went ahead while I slowly followed behind them, lost in my own thoughts. In my hands was a neon green gym bag my dad once got while promoting the dairy brand Molokiya.
Suddenly, my heartbeat sped up.
Tension locked my arms tight as I straightened my posture and instinctively touched the pendant hanging around my neck — a subconscious habit that always gave me a strange sense of comfort in stressful or unfamiliar situations.
The second I reached the basement, one word flashed through my mind in giant threatening capital letters:
IDIOT.
The biggest, brightest, most aggressively dramatic font imaginable.
I tossed my hair back as if I could physically shake off the frozen feeling he always left behind. Honestly, I wanted to grab my own reaction, throw it against the ground, and stomp on it repeatedly until it disappeared completely.
I pushed my way through the chaotic crowd of younger students running around like unsupervised raccoons. Seriously, those kids never look where they’re going, and somehow I’m always the one left with bruises on my thighs afterward.
While changing clothes, I figured I should probably explain what actually happened.
Earlier that day, while walking down the stairs, I ran into someone.
And in my humble opinion?
He looked like a god.
Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.
I’ll describe him properly later — trust me, he’ll appear in this story a lot. But my feelings deserve more explanation first.
I developed a crush on him last June. And yes, I’m calling it a crush because there’s honestly no better word for it.
The story itself is simple enough: after transferring to a new private school, my family and I were invited to a summer charity science fair supporting the Armed Forces of Ukraine.
So there I was, dragging myself after my mother through thirty-degree heat while pretending to care about scientific experiments and presentations...
...and then I saw HIM.
I can’t even fully explain why he caught my attention back then.
Probably his appearance.
Because his face card? Absolutely insane.
Tall, elegant features, thick dark chestnut hair, and ridiculously beautiful blue eyes.
And yes, I basically fell in love with him at first sight.
Or, to be more honest, I’m just weak when it comes to pretty faces. Don’t judge me.
Anyway, when I came to school on September first, I had absolutely no idea what his name was, how old he was, or literally anything else about him — information I could’ve easily gotten by simply asking his classmates.
Why didn’t I ask?
Because that would’ve been way too obvious.
So instead, I kept everything to myself.
Well... to myself and the group chat with my best friend, obviously.
By the end of October, I had finally managed to discover his full name, his grade, and even his patronymic. Naturally, this required extraordinary effort, questionable stalking techniques, and my excellent crisis-management skills.
So yeah.
That’s basically the first chapter of our “relationship.”
Anyway, by then I’d already changed back out of my PE uniform, though there was one tiny issue.
The guy had liked me for over a year...
...and no, I had never once properly spoken to him or even greeted him.
Since I’m already using this page as some kind of autobiography-slash-diary, I should probably mention my plans for the day too.
I was going to the theater.
In my head, that sounded extremely dramatic and sophisticated, though honestly, considering how obsessed I am with cultural events, it kind of fits.
By the time I finished mentally explaining all of this to you, I’d already gotten home after school and spent a while doom-scrolling through social media.
Then I quickly got ready: lip gloss, phone, money for transportation...
Yep. That was everything.
And now I was running toward the bus stop because, naturally, I was already late.
I quickly texted my friend that I’d probably arrive at the theater a little behind schedule.
Welp. Nothing I could do now.
It’s not like I could force the bus to move faster, so I just put on my headphones and turned on music.
Before I even realized it, we’d already reached my stop, and I practically jumped onto the dirty pavement as one of the last passengers to leave.
Crowds of people rushed around me in both directions, making it difficult to focus or even decide where to go.
Especially because I had accidentally forgotten my glasses.
Without them, I feel like someone who spent an hour swimming underwater without goggles.
Still, I somehow managed to find the metro entrance.
With a relieved sigh, I collapsed onto the dark brown seat of an old subway car that groaned and rattled beneath my feet as it sped through the stations.
Out of habit, I stared through the window at the familiar scenery outside: trees, people, little dogs, suitcases — everything blending into one blurry whirlwind of movement.
Honestly, even though people think I’m very extroverted and talkative, that doesn’t really change anything.
I still love observing people.
Trying to build little theories about them:
who they are, what they do, where they’re rushing off to so desperately, and why exactly they decided a corgi was the perfect pet choice.
But there’s a downside to being observant too.
You notice very quickly when something feels wrong between people.
That’s just how empathetic and observant people work, I guess.
For example, for a while I felt like the unwanted third wheel in my friend group at school.
I sensed it constantly, and it hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I’m glad the holidays gave me enough distance to rethink my attitude toward the situation.
Even now, though, I still sometimes feel slightly ignored.
Slightly unheard.
But whatever.
It’s a chance to learn not to invest emotionally in places where you don’t receive the same energy in return.
Okay, we drifted into philosophy for a second there.
Time to resurface onto the crowded streets of Khreshchatyk.
And yes, you may all be happy for me —
I was finally going to eat.
Specifically at Puzata Hata, for chicken Kyiv and country-style potatoes.
I will not be accepting criticism at this time :)
While other kids begged their parents to take them to McDonald’s, I was obsessed with going out for chicken cutlets instead.
Surprising, maybe, but even as a child I genuinely preferred “healthy” food. Salads were my personality. I could eat an entire bowl of salad as a kid, and honestly, ten years later absolutely nothing has changed.
That’s exactly why I decided to have lunch in the basement-level dining hall tucked away in one of the noisy courtyards of Khreshchatyk.
The second I stepped into the cool interior, I headed toward the sink to wash my hands. Then I moved into the main hall where people lined up for food:salads first, then soups, then main dishes, and finally drinks or desserts.
That explanation was mostly for people who’ve never eaten there before.
Anyway, while paying for my lunch, here’s what I got:chicken Kyiv, country-style potatoes, a huge cucumber-and-tomato salad, and berry kompot.
And today?
Absolute chaos.
There were people everywhere.
Just thinking about squeezing through that crowd to find a seat made my stomach twist.
But apparently I underestimated myself, because somehow I managed to find a free spot — right next to a sunlit window.
Lucky me.
...Or so I thought.
I was reading the electronic version of the same book I mentioned earlier when suddenly someone spoke to me.
“Excuse me, may I sit here? Everything else is taken.”
I looked up, and my gaze immediately collided with a pair of deep brown eyes.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise as I blinked rapidly. Apparently my brain needed a few extra seconds for the neural connections to process his question.
I glanced around and realized he was right — not a single table had any free seats left.
Then I looked back at the tall guy standing in front of me, dressed in loose sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. In one hand he held a tray of food; in the other, a black motorcycle helmet and a phone.
“Yeah, of course,” I answered.
He only nodded, brushing back his black, raven-wing-like bangs before sliding onto the couch across from me.
The muscles in his arms flexed slightly as he set the helmet beside him and placed his phone on the table.
Then he pulled the tray closer and started eating, casually pushing his bangs aside again.
I silently watched him while slowly sipping the red drink in my glass.
“Enjoy your meal,” he said in a deep, calm voice.
I pulled myself away from whatever point I’d been staring at while slowly chewing my salad.
“Oh... thank you,” I nodded, continuing to eat.
“And you’re not going to say it back?” he asked, amusement creeping into his voice as the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
I only raised an eyebrow.
Honestly, why should I wish a good meal to someone who had just interrupted my inner peace and perfectly enjoyable solitude?
Now he was smiling like a satisfied cat.
“Enjoy your meal. Happy now?” I rolled my eyes.
Seriously, for the love of all things holy, just sit there quietly and eat without disturbing my internal balance.
He lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“Okay, okay, sorry. I won’t interrupt your meal anymore, milady,” he said with the same teasing tone, though somehow I relaxed a little.
I shifted my attention back to my food, and he seemed to decide to do the same.
Good.
At least now I could eat in peace.
Turns out, I was being way too optimistic.
“Hey,” he suddenly said, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”
To my surprise, his tone was completely calm.
Completely serious.
Apparently... he wasn’t joking.
To be continued...
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