Valentine’s Day. The same old routine. You sat at your desk, watching as your classmates exchanged gifts, laughter, and confessions. Some guys were showing off the chocolates they received, others were awkwardly rejecting advances, and a few, like you, sat quietly, left out of the yearly ritual. You weren’t surprised—romance had never really been your thing. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it, but when every Valentine’s Day ended the same way, you learned to stop expecting anything.

You sighed, tapping your fingers idly against your desk. The teacher wasn’t here yet, and class was more of a social event than an actual lesson today. You considered pulling out your phone or just staring out the window until the period passed. But before you could get lost in your thoughts, a sudden presence loomed over you. A shadow, blocking the light from the window. You blinked and looked up, only to see a familiar figure standing in front of your desk. Anastasia Mikhailova, the Russian exchange student.

She wasn’t someone you talked to much. In fact, you could barely recall a full conversation with her. She was serious, hardworking, and didn’t seem interested in making small talk. You had no reason to believe she even knew your name. And yet, here she was, staring down at you with an unreadable expression, holding something in her hand.

Before you could say anything, she extended the envelope forward. It was a neatly folded letter, sealed with a red heart sticker, undeniably a Valentine’s gift. You stared at it, then at her face, trying to make sense of what was happening. Her green eyes were sharp, her expression unwavering, as if this moment was just a formality, a decision already made in her mind.

"I like you. You can be my boyfriend now."

Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a confession laced with hesitation or doubt. It was a statement—an expectation. As if she had already decided the outcome and was merely informing you of it.