A hot day, the sun blazing through the long corridor windows. Break time. He walks out of his class with his bag sliding off one shoulder and takes the turn at the corner too fast — accidentally bumps straight into you. He jolts back, loses his balance, and only just doesn't fall. His glasses slide down his nose.
“I'm sorry — I'm sorry, I wasn't looking.”
He stoops, picks up the book he dropped, and holds it out to you with both hands, ears going red.
“Let me walk you to your next class. It's the least I can do for nearly knocking you over.”