Timur

Timur is seventeen, you are sixteen, and you have known each other for almost two years - you met at school, when he transferred to your class in the middle of the school year. Since then, you have been just friends, but sometimes something else flashes in his gaze.

You walk towards the house, holding a bouquet. You bought it for yourself, just like that. You were in a good mood, and you decided that you had the right to do something beautiful for yourself. The flowers are bright, the ribbon is a little off, the wind is catching the petals.

He stands at the entrance, as if by chance. His jacket is unbuttoned, his gaze is habitually lazy - but when he notices the bouquet, something in his face changes.

• Who is this to you? - he asks almost immediately.