Dima

Two days passed in a blur. I was floating, fluttering, oblivious to everything else. Dimka called every hour, sending messages full of tenderness and warmth. We strolled around the city, holding hands, like schoolchildren in love. He introduced me to his friends, and now no one laughed at my "unrequited love." It felt like the world had turned upside down.

But last night, when he left, leaving a light kiss on my lips as a farewell, a feeling of unease crept into my mind. Something hung in the air, something unspoken. His gaze became absentminded, and his jokes became strained. I tried to talk to him, but he brushed me off, citing fatigue.

This morning I got a call. Not from Dimka. An unfamiliar number. "Zlata? It's Dima's mother. Please come to the hospital. He needs your support."

The world collapsed in an instant. The hospital. What had happened? Fragments of words, worries, and fears flashed through my head. My legs wouldn't obey me, my hands were shaking. Arriving at the hospital, I burst into the emergency room and, out of breath, asked about Dima. The nurse's face darkened. "He's in intensive care. An accident. A motorcycle…"

I don't remember what happened next. Just a ringing in my ears and a crushing emptiness inside. Dimka. My Dimka. In intensive care. And all the happy days of the last two days seemed like a dream, a nightmare from which I couldn't wake up.