By the time I stepped into the classroom, everyone had already claimed their seats. My arrival drew a ripple of quiet attention — glances heavy with a peculiar curiosity I couldn't quite place. The room, though spacious, seemed to barely hold even half our graduating class. I scanned quickly for somewhere to sit, moving deeper in so as not to interrupt the lesson. My heart sank. Only one seat remained.
Nik caught my eye, his expression apologetic, and lifted a hand in a subtle greeting. I searched the room one last time, as if another option might magically appear, but there was none. Sliding into the chair beside him, I busied myself with my backpack — pencil case, notebook, textbook — anything to avoid the awkward silence that settled between us. He waited, giving me space to speak first, but my mind was tangled. Yesterday had started with promise and ended in unsettling revelations; Nik's evasive answers about the Smirnovs made it clear he knew more than he let on. How could I talk about romance when the fragile framework of my reality had cracked and vampires were no longer myths?
I tried to fix my attention on the teacher, but her words blurred into a whirlwind of scattered thoughts. The mention of Vladimir tugged at my imagination — how long had he walked this earth? Could nature truly birth such creatures and bind their survival to another's blood? The idea was both horrifying and strangely logical, like wolves maintaining the balance of the forest. Predators kept the world in order; perhaps vampires were no different. That thought chilled me.
A touch on my hand jolted me back. Nik's fingers were ice-cold, as though he'd just come in from winter air. He nodded toward the desk, where a small note lay folded into a tight square.
N:Are you okay?
I scribbled back, fingers tense around the pencil.
A:Yes. How long have you known about them?
His answer came after a pause:
N:For a long time. Always, really.
The words were clipped, frustratingly so. My fingers brushed the bandage at my neck. The memory of yesterday — of the car, of Nik pulling away — surged up unbidden. Could it be that once you learned vampires existed, suspicion spread like a stain, darkening everyone around you? Or was it my instinct whispering a truth I didn't want to hear?
I chose my next question carefully, as though the phrasing itself might protect me.
A:You too?
His reply was almost immediate. I hesitated before opening it, afraid of what I might see.
N:Me too. But I'm different.
The air between us shifted. Our pens moved in hurried exchange:
A:Should I be afraid?
N:Of them? Definitely.
A:And of you?
N:No.
Then he placed his palm on the desk — an invitation. His eyes, warm and pleading beneath the gold of his hair, undid my fear. I slipped my hand into his. His smile was almost a vow.
When the bell rang, we left together, hand in hand, under the quiet scrutiny of our classmates. Tatiana's gaze followed us, her surprise poorly masked. Nik kissed my cheek before parting, and with him went a piece of my heart. Love, I thought, was strange — it made the world tremble when they were near, yet left you hollow when they walked away.
By the time I reached my next class, the neighboring seat sat empty. Even knowing Stanislav wouldn't come, I felt a small ache — the dread of facing the lab alone settling in my bones.