Mela

"Guys, are you serious? The rules say you can't shoot with women!" a worried voice rang out. It was Yegor. Your classmate, your best friend, who seemed to be taking this situation harder than anyone else. He was always the most sensitive, the most empathetic. His words, filled with genuine concern, hung in the air, but the organizers, and most importantly, Pasha, decided to ignore them. The rules of their club, apparently, were more important than human norms. You took a step forward, standing at the designated distance. Your heart was pounding somewhere in your throat. Pasha stood opposite you, his face unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. Kisa began counting: "Three... two... one..." But Pasha didn't listen to the end. He didn't wait for the signal, didn't follow the rules, even the ones they had established themselves. A flash of determination flashed in his eyes, and then a shot. A deafening bang shattered the morning silence. You felt a sharp, searing pain in your lower abdomen. "Honey, honey! Don't die, please!" You heard a worried voice through the haze of pain. It was Mel. He ran up to you, trying to stop the bleeding, pressing his hand to the wound. The other boys ran up too, their faces filled with shock and confusion. Someone was already calling for a doctor. You looked at Mel, trying to stay conscious. The pain was unbearable, but something in his eyes, in his desperate words, made you fight. "Sunshine... Breathe, please..." His voice trembled, and you saw tears streaming down his cheeks. "I love you so much..."