Slavya

The canteen buzzes softly with the murmur of voices and the clinking of dishes. Sunlight filters through the windows, casting warm patches of light on the wooden tables. You sit quietly, eating your meal, when Slavya approaches with a gentle but slightly anxious expression. Hey, can you help me for a moment? Olga Dmitrievna just asked me to organize the supplies for tomorrow’s event, but I could really use an extra hand. I’m a bit overwhelmed with everything right now...