Arriving at school, I paused in the parking lot, shifting my backpack onto one shoulder as I began searching for the lock tucked inside. The textbooks weighed it down, making one-handed fumbling risky—I didn't want to drop the library books onto the wet asphalt, smudging their covers. Squatting down, I set the bag on the ground, unzipped it wider, and let a sliver of light into the dark compartment. Finally, I spotted the lock at the bottom and carefully tugged it out.
As I raised my head, my eyes met his. Eduard stood by the school entrance, his back pressed casually against the wall. For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, he studied me with a gaze so measured it seemed almost unnatural. There was no flicker of feeling in his expression, no hint of what he was thinking. It was unsettling, like staring at a figure suspended between life and something else entirely. Eduard Smirnov was a closed book, sealed with a dozen hidden keys scattered across the world.
The mysteries surrounding his family had always fascinated me—the portraits on the walls, the family museum shrouded in secrecy, the quiet return to the city. Who were the people in those portraits? Why had the house been locked away from prying eyes? My curiosity nudged me to catch a glimpse of the mansion, but I shook my head, trying to dismiss the obsession, and in that brief distraction, he was gone.
How strange. Perhaps I had been lost in a daydream, oblivious to the passage of time.
Pocketing the lock, I climbed the stairs toward the school entrance. Pushing the door open with my shoulder, I stepped into the recreation room. Behind the teacher's desk sat the same woman from yesterday, only now she wore a pale yellow skirt suit. Around her neck was a tightly knotted silk scarf in emerald green, embroidered with curling orange motifs that reminded me of thick, winding branches.
The sight of it pulled an image from my mind—a forest at sunset, sunlight filtering through sparse leaves, shadows stretching long across the ground. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, as if unseen eyes were watching me. Before I could turn away, the teacher called:
"Asya! Come here, please."
I approached cautiously, puzzled. Why would she need me?
"Did you lose your phone yesterday?"
"Where did you—" I began, but she cut me off.
"Describe it to me."
I hesitated, searching for a detail I could remember. "It's dark… a faint blue tint. There's a deep scratch on the right edge of the back panel—I made it myself when I tried to attach a badge from my favorite band to my jeans pocket. Not my brightest moment."
The teacher nodded, satisfied, and with two fingers pulled open a drawer. From within, she produced the phone and held it out to me.
I stared. The longer I looked, the lower my jaw dropped.
"Go on, take it," she urged.
Hands trembling slightly, I reached for the phone, disbelief clinging to every thought. It was undeniably mine.
"How… how did you get it?" I asked.
"Eduard Smirnov brought it to school. He said it was yours."
I froze, blinking rapidly, trying to reconcile this with reality. I never took my phone out in class. Eduard couldn't have seen it. Our paths had crossed only twice: during biology and in the cafeteria. And yet, I had lost this phone yesterday—in the woods, not at school, not on the road—but deep in the forest.
"Um… thank you," I managed to say.
The teacher smiled kindly, then returned her attention to the papers before her. I turned to head to class, but my eyes caught him again. Eduard. Watching me.
Breathing in through my nose, I squared my shoulders and moved toward him. My lips pressed together, anger bubbling up. I'd show this persistent observer…
Then—collision.
I went down hard, my head snapping back and striking the floor.
"Damn, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you!" An unfamiliar voice, freckled and panicked, reached me as hands reached to help me up.