The week before their history presentation passed in a haze of diligent coordination. Emails zipped back and forth between Alex and Katarina—refining slide transitions, double-checking historical citations, and ensuring their individual speaking parts wove into one cohesive narrative. Katarina's precision impressed Alex; her eye for detail bordered on surgical. She even caught a minor statistical inconsistency he had missed, which, though humbling, only deepened his respect for her thoroughness. In return, he helped soften some of her more technical phrasing, translating academic density into clarity without dumbing it down.
Their final run-through was set for the day before the presentation, during a free period in one of the school's tucked-away audiovisual rooms. The small, tiered space felt oddly theatrical—windowless, dimly lit, and equipped with a looming projection screen that gave their rehearsal a stage-like gravity.
Alex arrived first, plugging in his laptop and testing the slides. The transitions were smooth, and the visuals—especially the monochrome images from Katarina's grandfather—looked hauntingly beautiful on the large screen. One photograph in particular, of a man in a long coat standing in a desolate Berlin marketplace, stirred an inexplicable discomfort in him. He shook it off. It didn't matter. It was just part of the presentation.
Katarina entered shortly after, a thermos in one hand and a folder in the other. She looked paler than usual, with a faint tension tightening her usually poised features.
"Nakamura-kun," she greeted softly, her voice lacking its usual crispness.
"Volkov-san. Ready for the final rehearsal?" he asked, offering a calm smile.
She gave a tight nod and sat down in the front row. As he cued the first slide, he caught her inhaling slowly, then muttering under her breath, "Господи, помоги мне не опозориться завтра. Так много всего на кону."(Lord, help me not to embarrass myself tomorrow. There's so much at stake.)
Alex glanced at her, puzzled. So much at stake? It was a school project—important, yes, but not life-altering. Yet the way she said it carried weight. Maybe, for her, this was about more than a grade.
They began. Alex took the lead with practiced ease, opening with the broader context of post-war Europe. His voice was steady, the rhythm natural, honed through years of speech competitions and family expectations that demanded grace under pressure.
Then came Katarina's part. She rose with her usual grace, but Alex noticed the slight tremble in her hands as she gripped her notes. Her voice, usually so precise, wavered at first. She spoke of the devastation Germany endured, the division of its people, the uncertain early days of its rebirth.
As she reached the segment on the Berlin Airlift, her grandfather's photo of children watching Allied planes overhead filled the screen. Her voice grew firmer, her tone threaded with quiet emotion. The scholarly delivery faded, replaced by something more raw.
"Эти фотографии… они всё ещё преследуют меня. Столько страданий, столько несправедливости," she murmured as she clicked to the next slide.(These photographs… they still haunt me. So much suffering, so much injustice.)
The words weren't meant for him, but Alex felt them anyway. Her empathy wasn't just academic—it was lived, inherited. It made history feel heartbreakingly present.
They pressed on. Alex noticed she glanced at her notes more than usual, occasionally stumbling on a phrase she'd normally breeze through. Her composure, always unshakeable, had cracks today.
While Alex prepared a short video clip, Katarina took a sip from her thermos. He heard her whisper, more to herself than to him, "Почему я так нервничаю? Это всего лишь школьный проект. Но… я не могу подвести дедушкину память. И… я не хочу выглядеть глупо перед… ним."(Why am I so nervous? It's just a school project. But… I can't betray my grandfather's memory. And… I don't want to look foolish in front of… him.)
Alex froze. Him? Did she mean… him? The idea sent a flicker of warmth through him, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Or was she talking about the teacher? The class?
He forced himself to stay focused. When the video ended, he turned back to her. "Your section on the social impact—really strong, Volkov-san. The way you connect the personal with the political? That's what makes it hit."
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you, Nakamura-kun." His words seemed to settle her, restoring a bit of the confidence he was used to seeing in her.
They worked through the final sections, navigating Germany's reunification and the country's modern identity. With each slide, Katarina's posture straightened, her gestures more confident. She wasn't just presenting—she was believing what she was saying. Alex could see it, feel it.
As they reached the conclusion, a hush settled over the room. Alex clicked off the projector and turned to her with a quiet smile.
"I think we're ready."
She exhaled, long and slow, her shoulders loosening. "You think so?"
"I know so," he replied. "You were brilliant. Especially when you talked about the human cost. You make the past… breathe."
She looked down, lips tugging into a small, self-conscious smile. "Спасибо. Твои слова… много для меня значат."(Thank you. Your words… mean a lot to me.)
The Russian was deliberate this time. Personal.
Alex felt heat creep into his own cheeks. Her gratitude, said in her heart's language, hit deeper than any compliment.
"We make a good team," he said softly. And it wasn't just about the presentation.
They began packing up in companionable silence. Just as they were leaving, the door creaked open.
"Hey, Alex! Oh—Volkov-san, too!" Kenji's head popped in, grin wide. "Heard you two were holed up in here. Gonna crush it tomorrow, right? The 'Power Duo' rides again!"
Katarina's expression froze for a second. "Ох, только не он со своими глупыми прозвищами," she muttered, almost inaudibly.(Oh, not him with his silly nicknames.)
Alex suppressed a grin. He caught Kenji's eye and shook his head slightly. "We're hoping it goes smoothly, Kenji."
"Smoothly? Dude, you two are like academic Avengers. It's gonna be epic!" Kenji gave Alex a playful punch and disappeared just as fast as he'd arrived.
As the door clicked shut, Katarina sighed. "Your friend is… enthusiastic."
"That's a generous way of putting it," Alex chuckled. He admired Kenji's boundless optimism, even if his timing was rarely ideal.
They stepped into the hallway, where the day's end spilled students toward clubs and home.
"Tomorrow, second period, Room 203," Alex confirmed.
"Yes," Katarina said, clutching her folder closer. "I appreciate your support, Nakamura-kun. It helps."
"You've earned every bit of confidence, Volkov-san," he said. "You've done incredible work. Try to get some rest tonight. Don't overthink it."
She glanced at him, gratitude flickering behind her fatigue. "Постараюсь. Но мой мозг имеет привычку работать сверхурочно, особенно когда это важно."(I'll try. But my brain tends to overwork itself, especially when it matters.)
He smiled, recognizing the feeling all too well. "Mine too. But we've done the hard part. Now we just show up."
She nodded. "Good luck tomorrow, Nakamura-kun."
"And to you, Volkov-san."
They lingered for a moment, the unspoken resting in the quiet space between them. The anticipation was real—not just for the presentation, but for what it represented. Alex felt something shifting, subtly but unmistakably.
As she turned to go, her silver hair catching the afternoon sun like silk, Alex stood there, wanting—again—to say more. But he didn't. Not yet.
Tomorrow, they would stand together. And that, he sensed, would matter more than either of them could yet name.