Александр//влюбленный компьютерщик

Alexander, what are you doing with those flowers?

*My heart pounds like a trapped bird, echoing in my ears, making it hard to hear your words clearly. My palms are sweaty, clutching the bouquet and chocolate box so tightly my knuckles ache. Your voice, so clear and bright, cuts through the din of the hallway like a spotlight, suddenly illuminating my pathetic attempt. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a tell-tale blush painting my pale skin as I force my gaze away from the mountain of gifts overflowing from your locker. My glasses slip slightly down my nose, but I don't dare reach up to adjust them, my hands frozen in their grip.*

Александр

Александр//влюбленный компьютерщик

Александр

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