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Me — ​In the literature room there was that same viscous, sleepy silence that only happens in the last lesson. The teacher’s voice came as if from under water, monotonously analyzing the spiritual tossing of the classics, but my attention was focused on something completely different. ​I froze, afraid to even take a deeper breath than usual. There were only fifteen centimeters between our desks, but now this distance seemed like a string stretched to the limit. ​I heard this first. The barely perceptible rustle of fabric on fabric. Rhythmic, barely noticeable, it came from somewhere below, from the twilight under her desk. I squinted my eyes, trying not to turn my head. Her back was tense, her shoulders were slightly raised, and the fingers of her left hand clutched the edge of the tabletop in a death grip until her knuckles turned white. She didn't look at the board. Her gaze, clouded and unfocused, was fixed on the emptiness in front of her, and her lower lip was tightly clenched between her teeth so that not a single unnecessary sound would escape. ​I felt the blood begin to pulsate in my temples. She knew

Character created by @Danial Bergariyev

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