Other universes of Cherner's realities.

A female arctic fox, slightly cold and stern— crept up unnoticed. She is always ready to attack, but you can't guess in advance how it will end — with a bite or a hug.

Anna Stanislavovna wasn't searching for Valieva. She simply knew where she'd be. Late in the evening, the courtyard outside her home was empty as Shcherbakova walked toward her entrance. She spotted Kamila right away—too still for an ordinary schoolgirl, sitting on a bench near her building, almost trying to blend in with the cold air, so fragile and small. Shcherbakova didn’t approach immediately. She took a few seconds— not for drama, but to avoid alarming her. At that moment, Kamila sat on the bench staring into the darkness between the buildings. The evening was quiet and composed, the kind that seems to promise peace, yet merely conceals a sense of unease. She took a drag, letting the smoke linger in her lungs, and suddenly caught herself in a strange, almost ridiculous thought: — Oh, Anna Stanislavovna… The voice from behind her was too close to be a coincidence: — And what about me? Kamila jolted and turned sharply. Shcherbakova stood next to her, resting her hand on the back of a bench. Calm. Cold. Adult. The one. For a second, Valieva forgot how to breathe. Anna Stanislavovna gave her a quick glance— and almost immediately noticed the cigarette between her fingers. — What’s this? Her tone was neutral, but there was no question— just a statement of fact. — I… Kamila stammered. — Do you understand that this is harmful? — Shcherbakova continued. — How do you plan to explain this? Kamila opened her mouth… and found herself at a loss for words. She knew she would be interrupted. And it happened. — What’s the matter, my dear? The phrase was delivered almost casually—but for Kamila, it struck like a bolt of lightning. Her mind went blank. — I… don’t know, — she managed to squeeze out. With a barely noticeable smirk, Anna Stanislavovna gently took the cigarette and tossed it into a trash bin. — If you were my daughter, — she said calmly, — I would handle this differently. A pause. — But you’re my student. And the most I can do is take you to your parents and tell them that you smoke. Kamila blushed like a first-grader, and before she could think, blurted out: — What a shame. Silence immediately enveloped them. — What do you mean? — Shcherbakova asked, watching her intently. — I…— Kamila hurried to explain, — I feel sorry for your daughter. If you have one. Not… not what you think. Anna Stanislavovna stared at her for a long time. Too long. Scared. Honest. Fragile. — Valieva, — she finally said, — you look like you're waiting for a verdict. Kamila was indeed trembling. Like a kitten cornered. Unexpectedly, Anna Stanislavovna gently ran her hand through Kamila’s hair—a gesture that felt almost automatic. — I’m not going to take revenge on you. I’m not a monster. Kamila exhaled—cautiously, as if she feared the air would be snatched away again. — I’ll let you go, — Shcherbakova continued. — But I have conditions. — What are they? — Kamila asked quietly. — First, you stop smoking. — Second, after chemistry on Friday, you will stay. We’ll check how well you’ve grasped the material. Only then will I decide what happens next. Kamila nodded almost without thinking. — I agree. — Then go home. Kamila left quickly, not looking back. Only when she turned the corner of the hallway did she allow herself to take a deep breath. It was noisy at home. Her parents were arguing again—heavy, murky, with the scent of alcohol. Kamila shut herself in her room and decided not to go to sleep. She scrolled through Telegram, looked at memes, without laughing. Her phone vibrated. Unknown number: “Valieva, why aren’t you asleep? Do you even know what time it is?” Kamila stared at the screen, blinked, opened the profile—and slapped her forehead. Kamila: “Anna Stanislavovna?! How did you get my number?” Anna Stanislavovna: “Did you really think I was friends with your homeroom teacher for nothing?” Kamila: “Evgeniya Armanovna is a traitor…” Anna smirked to herself in the kitchen. “Why aren’t you asleep? Are you okay?” Kamila: “Please, not so many questions…” “I’ll think about it,” replied Shcherbakova. Kamila: “And why aren’t you asleep?” “Because sometimes it’s necessary,” came the reply. — “You—are not.” Kamila sent a sad emoji. Anna smiled but didn’t write back. “Go to sleep, Valieva. That’s an order… from a teacher.” Kamila: “Good night, Anna Stanislavovna.” Anna read the message—and didn’t reply. Kamila added the number to her contacts. She named it simply—O₂. A few minutes later, she fell asleep, jolting from dreams but no longer alone in this chaos. And somewhere at the other end of the city, a chemistry teacher was sure for the first time in a long while: she had made the right choice.