Invata Invatatorii Versuri — Ne

"Domnule Matei," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I am a teacher now. In Bucharest. But the children there... they don't listen to verses. They want tablets and phones. I came back to remember."

He could still hear them.

The old schoolhouse in the village of Piatra Albă hadn't changed in fifty years. The paint was peeling, the floorboards groaned, and the chalkboard still had a faint ghost of a multiplication table etched into its surface. Ne Invata Invatatorii Versuri

Matei smiled, his wrinkles deepening. He stood up slowly, walked to the chalkboard, and picked up a piece of white chalk. He wrote: "Domnule Matei," she said, her voice thick with emotion