happiness for another moment. "What would it be like if he came to find out the answer now? I asked myself. "He would have been surprised to see me," but he didn't come. Perhaps because it was important only to me. After leaving the classroom, I ran into my classmate Myahri.

— Rose, wait a bit.

I already wanted to know the reason for her haste

— What's the matter? Everything is fine?

— Did you write that on the desk? "What is it?" she asked, coming close to me.

I immediately understood what kind of inscription she was talking about. Thought: "What if Myahri wrote the letter?" flashed through my head. Wanting to find out, I pretended not to know anything:

— What lettering are you talking about?

Myahri perked up again:

— Writing on the desk, in English. Admit it, Rose, only you can write like that. And you're sitting in front.

— Let's say so, and what? I asked, emboldened. Myahri, contrary to my expectations, suddenly looked like a defenseless girl.

— Oh, I told Serdar a thousand times that it wasn't me, but he didn't believe my words. So, it's you, then?

It is very difficult to convey my state at that moment. My face turned red, as if I had been slapped in the face, a smell hit my nose, which I feel when I'm worried or angry. I was tormented by my innermost, such native pride. And I was very humiliated. I've heard before that Serdar has a liking for Myahri. But is it really worth the attention of a girl who considers herself much better than the fool Myahri, and only considers herself worthy of being next to Serdar. At that moment, instead of confessing my feelings for Serdar, I tried to hide them. Maybe it was the wrong decision. But, still, it could not hurt my sense of pride that the letters that I thought were addressed to me were intended for another person. Myahri also sat at the first desk and participated in English language Olympiads. But how could he confuse me with her?! And then, I don't know from where, I had the idea to humiliate Serdar. I decided to play the same role that fate played with me. This thought came to my mind so naturally that I even wanted it to be true

— I wrote a letter in response to Aman. You know, we argue a lot about songs with him…

Myahri continued to look at me questioningly. I told her about the non-existent dispute between me and Aman, because I was sure that she wouldn't ask him anything anyway, and even if she did, Aman wouldn't think of denying it, because we often had arguments with him.

— I didn't even know that, exactly, Serdar was responding to the recording. True, his name was there, but I thought it was a clever trick of Aman to write under a false name. Did Serdar get very angry?

— Yes, no. But I told him: "It's probably Rose, because she's sitting here," And then no one will write such words… That's why I said, "Either it's Rose, or she knows who"

— Oh, poor. He was probably upset to find out that it wasn't you?

Myahri blushed. She was embarrassed, as if she was standing not in front of a classmate, but in front of an eighteen-year-old guy. She interrupted me in a weak tone, like a person who knows that it's not true, but wants to believe otherwise:

— No, what are you? I didn't see any distress, on the contrary, it seemed to me that his eyes sparkled when he heard your name…

“The eyes sparkled. What can you tell by your eyes, you’re fool?» I thought ironically about Myahri. “Is it possible to describe in such ordinary words the eyes that I set as the beginning of everything? There was a reader by the eyes, hmh…”

From that moment I stopped talking to Myahri. Until graduation, I avoided meeting her. And Serdar began to look at me like a child offended by something, and I tried not to show myself in his eyes. “After all, it's me who should be offended by him,” I thought. This thought naturally did not leave me. I fell asleep with them, and got up with them. When I woke up, I erased Serdar's name from the glass, on which there were dreams of love that had not yet had time to melt.

So, the days went by. I found a habit of crying silently. Something heavy could not get out of my chest and free me from the pain. It got to the point where I cried if I didn't see Serdar at recess. The worst thing was that I couldn't change anything. Exactly, at that time I hated reality, because, no matter how hard you try, it was relentless, mercilessly persistent. I was running after a ghostly dream, which, as it seemed to me at that time, could become real, realized. The lines of love written on the desk turned into painful memories. And it strengthened the desire to become only a memory in this world. I cried so much over films about love that then I had to cry, seeing my suffering.

One day, while talking in class about the novel “Pride and Prejudice” by the famous English writer Jane Austen, I saw Serdar walking down the corridor. Our classroom was next door to the principal's cab. He must have gone there. I was glad that I saw so desirable through the open doors. I continued my story with a very interesting fact about the film of the same name based on the novel by J. Austin. When, during the filming of the film, they came to see the palace where the following scenes were supposed to take place, English cinematographers saw a scripture made back in the XVlll century. Despite the fact that the scripture was made quite a long time ago, it has been preserved in its