And yet - together

      “Why do I feel so uncomfortable in relationships with girls?” Misha asked himself, sitting on the dusty bus seat.       The bus swayed from side to side, bouncing over potholes. Outside the window, houses and people rushing about their business flashed by, along with cars speeding in the opposite direction. Misha exhaled lazily, resting his forehead against the cold glass. Today, he had broken up with his girlfriend over the phone. It all felt distant—no pain, no regret. In relationships with her, and with other girls he had dated, Misha felt out of place. He didn’t feel anything for them. Unlike most guys, he didn’t see girls that way. For some reason, it was boys who increasingly caught his attention—and that made him uneasy. The bus came to a sudden stop. Misha jumped off, immediately met by the wind. His chestnut curls flew in all directions. The walk to school was short—just across the street and a few more steps. Standing before the massive wooden doors, Misha encountered a classmate he only spoke to within school walls. They exchanged a few words, but Misha quickly retreated into his thoughts. Suddenly, an inexplicable feeling overshadowed his mind—as if today his life would change. The two boys walked together to the classroom. Inside, the usual noise and chaos reigned. Some girls loudly discussed their spring break activities, while boys chased each other, trying to land playful slaps over some argument. Others were absorbed in their phones. Realizing that he wouldn’t find peace today either, Misha sighed and sat at his desk. Just as he was about to close his eyes, his friend Timofey—a cheerful red-haired boy—sat beside him. - Hey! — Timofey greeted cheerfully, crossing one leg over the other. Misha lazily turned his head toward him and got up from his desk. - Yeah, hey… He didn’t feel like talking at all. His mood was off. Today’s thoughts had drained all his energy. He tried to push them away, but they kept returning. - Why so glum? Did you have a fight with Arina? - Not a fight. We broke up, — Misha said, and as Timofey was about to respond, Misha interrupted. — But I’m not sad about it. It was mutual. We met and talked. Let’s just say our personalities didn’t match. What Misha said wasn’t true. In reality, he broke up with her without explanation and immediately blocked her. Yes, he knew he had been cruel to her. But he couldn’t explain their breakup. Fortunately for Misha, the bell rang, and an elderly teacher entered the classroom. Timofey quickly returned to his seat, finally leaving Misha alone. The teacher glanced around the class, checking if everyone was in their places, and began writing something on the board, but Misha didn’t pay attention. Her writing was interrupted by the principal, who entered the class with a new student. He was tall, with wavy light brown hair covering his ears. The teacher turned around, setting aside the chalk, and looked at the principal with mild surprise. - Good day. We have a new student, — the principal said calmly, holding the door. — Meet Yura Orlov. He transferred to your class and will be studying here now. The class quieted down a bit; some girls began whispering. Misha slightly raised his head from the desk. The new student stood with a straight posture, slightly frowning, with a kind smile. His gaze swept across the class—and for a split second, it lingered on Misha. Just a second, but it somehow burned. Misha quickly looked away. Why did it suddenly feel hot? Maybe the air was stuffy. “Come in, Yura,” the teacher said. “Sit… over there, at the last desk.” And then Misha realized that this seat was next to him. Yura approached, nodded, and silently sat down. He smelled of something fresh, perhaps mint shampoo or the air after rain. Misha tried not to look in his direction but felt his gaze. Calm, unpressured—almost observant. - Hi, — Yura said unexpectedly. His voice was low but soft, as if tired from a long journey. Misha hesitated a bit but still replied: - Hi. - I’m Yura, — he said softly again. — We’ll be desk mates. - Yeah… Misha. Well, yeah, — Misha replied awkwardly, forcing a smile and staring into his notebook, pretending to write something. Yura smiled slightly and fell silent. Nothing special, yet Misha’s heart pounded too loudly. The entire lesson passed quietly. They didn’t talk, but Misha felt Yura’s gaze and occasionally glanced at him. A strange feeling overwhelmed him. It was a strong interest that Misha couldn’t explain. Looking at him, his heart beat faster, and he felt uneasy. His cheeks began to flush. “I don’t understand anything…” The lesson was ending. Misha wanted to leave the classroom quickly, but something held him back. He still felt a strange tension he couldn’t explain. Yura’s gaze shifted from the board to his desk mate, then back again. An awkward silence filled the space. Trying to break the heavy atmosphere, Misha quietly asked a question that seemed silly, but he didn’t know how else to start a conversation. - How do you like it here? Yura, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness, replied calmly: - I haven’t had a chance to meet the other classmates yet. But they seem okay. And the school… it’s typical. My previous school was similar. The walls, the interior, everything’s the same. Misha nodded, looking around the classroom. The walls were painted white, half-covered with wooden wallpaper, and in the middle hung a large folding board, with a plasma screen above it. But the conversation continued, and Yura answered Misha’s questions without hesitation. At some point, Misha couldn’t resist. - Why did you transfer here, if you don’t mind me asking? - No problem. I got into a fight with a school bully who was harassing a girl, and they kicked me out for it. They didn’t listen to us—his father is wealthy, sponsors their school, gives money to make it look better and to help his son get higher grades. If they lost the sponsor, their school wouldn’t thrive, and no one would line their pockets. So they sided with that jerk, — Yura said, frowning slightly. Misha frowned, not hiding his irritation. - Unfair. With teachers and a principal like that, you don’t need enemies, — he said, furrowing his brows. The bell for recess interrupted their conversation, and the class suddenly burst into commotion. Girls loudly discussed their weekend plans, and boys started another playful fight over a desk. Misha stood up, but feeling like his body was on autopilot, walked toward the door. Yura remained seated, arms crossed, but his gaze was fixed on Misha. He seemed like he wanted to say something but remained silent. - Misha, wait. Misha turned around, his heart pounding again. - Yeah? — he asked, slightly tense. Yura met his gaze for a moment but quickly looked away, as if surprised he had spoken. He shrugged and said briefly: - Never mind. And despite his slight smirk, Misha felt that there was something between them. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding or simple awkwardness. But somehow, strangely enough, it stirred a warm feeling inside him. He nodded once more, not knowing what to say, and left the classroom.

***

      When the lessons were over, Misha once again felt Yura’s gaze following him. He sensed that something already existed between them—something unspoken, yet real. Misha sighed quietly and headed for the exit. He still didn’t understand what exactly this feeling was, what exactly was going on with Yura. But he knew one thing: his life might have already started to change. And maybe, just maybe, it would become something entirely different—if he was ready to open himself up to it. Yura came up to him, that familiar, slightly teasing smile appearing on his face. - Are you coming home with me? — he asked softly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Misha slowed his pace, looked Yura over, and, to his own surprise, replied: - Yeah, I am. And even though both of them knew there was something between them, neither could say for sure what would happen next. Yura had only just transferred to their class, and even though they had talked through every lesson and every break, this was something more than just friendship. Every time their eyes met, something sparked in the air—but both preferred not to ask too many questions.