Sometimes I replay various moments from the past in my mind for a long time, and there is one story I still feel a bit ashamed to recall.

It happened back in my school days. Our class was preparing for an important creative competition, and we had paired up to work on a joint project. I was assigned the most difficult part of the model-making, but my partner—a quiet, somewhat withdrawn boy—genuinely tried to help in any way he could, bringing materials and looking up the necessary information. However, on the eve of the presentation, I was exhausted and on edge over some trivial matter; I snapped at him in front of the whole class, accusing him of not doing enough and claiming he was only hindering my progress.

He didn’t answer; he simply lowered his eyes in silence, and the others around us fell quiet. We ultimately defended the project brilliantly and received praise for it, yet I felt no joy. The smile on my face was forced, for a nasty, clinging sense of guilt was burning inside me. Later, I noticed him becoming even more distant, yet—whether out of pride or simple cowardice—I never found the strength to approach him and sincerely apologize for those harsh words.

Over the years, that incident has become an important lesson for me. It taught me how easily one can hurt a loved one in a moment of irritation and how heavy the burden of things left unsaid can be. Now, whenever I feel the urge to speak harshly or snap at someone out of fatigue, I mentally go back to that day and try to stop myself in time.

Warmly,
Olga