The students mocked the new teacher, trying to make her cry — but a few minutes later, something unexpected happened 

There hadn’t been a permanent literature teacher in the 10th grade for a while. One went on maternity leave, another quit after just a month. When Anna showed up — young, calm, neat — the students exchanged glances:
“Another one… She won’t last long.”

The first lesson started off as a test.

— Alright, open your notebooks… — the teacher began.

— We didn’t bring any! — someone yelled from the back row. Laughter.

— Maybe introduce yourself before trying to teach? — another sneered.

— Alright. Anna… — she said calmly.

— Smells like perfume from the last century, and those glasses — just like grandma’s! — the laughter grew louder.

Someone played the sound of a donkey braying on their phone. The class burst out laughing. While she was explaining something at the board, one student threw a paper airplane at her back.

The teacher turned around.

— Gonna cry and run off like the last one? — someone whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

Someone exaggerated a yawn and dropped their textbook loudly to the floor. Others followed — books fell, chairs creaked, and someone openly scrolled through TikTok on their tablet.

Then, unexpectedly, Anna sat down on the edge of her desk and said softly, almost casually… The entire class froze at her words… Continued in the first comment 

— You know, I wasn’t always a teacher. Exactly a year ago, I worked in an oncology ward for teenagers. They were your age. Some of them just wanted to live long enough to graduate. Everything mattered to them: books, poems, just having someone to talk to.

— One boy, 17 years old. Diagnosis — sarcoma. We read books out loud together because he could no longer speak.

The class quieted down a bit.

— He held onto the book even when his fingers stopped working. He told me, “I wish I had loved books earlier. Now I’d give anything just to… sit in a regular class. Without an IV.”

The room grew noticeably quieter.

— A girl from the next room — the teacher continued — dreamed of going to school. Just sitting in a real classroom. You guys… you’re living their dream, but acting like life owes you something.

— I’m not going to pity you, and I won’t beg you. I know what it’s worth. And if you want to find out — keep going the way you are.

She stood up, straightened the pile of notebooks on the desk, adjusted her glasses, and opened the class register. For the rest of the lesson, not a sound was heard.