Mikhail Volkov hated first day.
He stood in front of the gray building of ## university, coat zipped up to his neck, watching students rush in and out like bees in a cold nest. The February air bit at his fingers, and the sky above looked as bored as he felt.
''New place. New faces. Same routine,'' he muttered, pulling his hood up and walking toward the main entrance.
He didn't know anyone here. And that was fine. He wasn't here to make friends------------just finish his degree and get out.
Inside the building, the hall buzzed with energy. Flyers, announcements, too many vices-----too much movement.
Mikhail pushed through, checking his phone for his schedule. Room 305. Literature. 10 a.m.
He found the room easily, slipped in, and grabbed a seat near the middle.
A few moments later, another student entered -------- a guy, maybe around his age. He looked quiet, Dark brown hair. Simple black hoodie, jeans, carrying a book in one hand, earbuds in the other. As he walked past and took a seat by the window.
Mikhail didn't think much of it.
The lecture began.
Professor spoke about Chekhov's short stories with heavy emphasis on structure. People around Mikhail were half----listening, half---scrolling on thair phones.
The guy by the window----the one who walked in late----didn't take any notes. Just sat there, occasionally tapping his fingers on the desk. Like he was somewhere else in his head.
Mikhail focused on his own notes. Nothing special just another boring semester.
At the end of class, everyone gathered their stuff. The guy by the window got up and walked out quietly earbuds in.
Mikhail didn't even catch his name.........