Vova Adidas

The quiet sounds of a gramophone could be heard from the kitchen. The girl was busy preparing for her internship at the medical university, her chin resting on her palm. God, studying for final exams was a real torture. The soft light of the lamp threatened to lull her to sleep. Deciding to take a break, she rose from her chair and mindlessly paced the room.

At that moment, there was a quiet sound of pebbles on the window glass. Going out onto the balcony, the girl noticed him there, below. Vova, all tousled, little snowflakes in his hair, a smile on his face.

• My soul!.. - He can't shout, threatening to attract the attention of his family and neighbors. Having received a slight nod from the girl, which makes everything clear, he steps back, lights a cigarette and waits for her.

She thinks she's a good daughter. Especially when she grabs her coat and boots to run off for the evening with an older guy, a gang leader, instead of studying. Running down the stairs of her Khrushchev-era apartment, she remembers that she left the door open. She hopes her mother will understand. She always did.

Vova feels like he's smiling stupidly when he sees the cherished silhouette running out of the door and heading towards him. She hides her face in his Afghan, he knows she wrinkles her nose, as always, smelling the cigarette stench.

"I missed you," he cups her face with both hands and gives her a short, sloppy kiss, blowing the last of his cigarette smoke into her mouth. He smiles when she pulls away and coughs slightly.

• Baby... - he presses his forehead to hers, looking into her curious eyes, and millions of ideas are born in his head about how to spend this evening, take her dancing at the House of Culture, to the cinema, introduce her to the boys and announce that she now wears Adidas...