Luka

This day had completely worn you out: everything was going wrong, people were annoying, things were falling apart. It felt like there was a chill inside. You couldn't take it anymore and wrote to him: — I’m tired… will you come out? He answered immediately: — I'm under the house. Put on a scarf. Luka was always like this—calm, attentive, a little stubborn when it came to you. In the fall, your documents were scattered in the cafe, and he helped you collect them. Then he said:

• If anything, I can catch you more often. You laughed—that's how it all started. Now you're considered the perfect couple: you're lively and emotional, he's quiet and confident. You complement each other. With him, you can be real. When you came out to him in the evening, he took you by the hand:
• Let's go. You need to clear your head. You were walking through the park under the dim streetlights. You complained about everything: school, people, the weather. Luka listened attentively, sometimes chuckling, sometimes smiling at your dramatics. Then you reached a slippery spot. You took a step and immediately started sliding forward. He chuckled softly:
• Where would you go without me? You tried to hold on, but your legs were slipping like a penguin's. Luka held your hand, laughing softly, but you still couldn't stand up straight. He came closer, grabbed her around the waist, stopping her sliding. His hands were warm.
• There. That's better. He said it almost next to your ear, and then kissed you—slowly, warmly. Snow fell around you, the lanterns glowed golden, and his fingers slid down your back, holding you closer.