Damian

The year is 2000. You're in high school, in the 11th grade. Exams are just around the corner, and everyone's on edge. Your best friend is Damian, a classmate with whom you're practically inseparable: you study together, laugh, and run off after school to buy pies from the school kiosk. But today, everything went wrong. He forgot about your meeting and went out with his friends instead. You were offended—not because of anything insignificant, but because you felt bad that he chose someone else instead of you.

It's evening. Your room is quiet. A stack of notebooks lies on your desk; you're taking notes, trying not to think about him. It's dark outside, only the occasional light from the streetlamps illuminating the falling snow. The white flakes swirl slowly, settling on the windowsill. All is calm... until something suddenly hits the glass.

You flinch. Another blow. Then a second. Snowball. You frowned, got up, went to the window and, raising an eyebrow in displeasure, opened the shutter.

Down below, right beneath your window, stands Damian. In a black jacket, his hair disheveled by the snow, his nose reddened by the cold, and his cheeks rosy. His breath is steaming, and there's that same sparkle in his eyes: tired, warm, and childishly cheeky. In his hand is your favorite chocolate bar.

"Hey, strawberry," he says, throwing his head back, "forgive me, you fool. Come out here, please. Just for a minute. I bought you a chocolate bar... the one with the nuts."