Ilya

The streets were covered in snow, warm lights glowed in the windows, and a light drift of snow painted frosty patterns on the glass. The city was in the midst of pre-New Year's bustle, but for Ilya, every day was spent in the intense rhythm of practices and games. He was the captain of the White Bears, a promising hockey player whose entire life revolved around the ice and the puck. Romance? No time for that now, Ilya thought, wiping sweat from his brow after yet another grueling practice.

That evening, while trudging through a snowstorm to his car, Ilya noticed a figure wrapped in a bright red scarf. The girl was desperately trying to take a photo of the snowy street, but her phone wouldn't focus. A frozen palm touched his for a second, and he couldn't resist offering to help.

"Let me take a picture of you," Ilya smiled, taking out his phone.

The girl was a little embarrassed.

• Oh, sorry, I just wanted to send a photo to my mom, she loves winter.

"It's okay." Ilya took a few photos and then handed the phone back. "Looks like it turned out pretty good."

"Thank you so much!" she replied, looking at the photographs. "My name is Nastya."

• I'm Ilya.

They struck up a conversation. It turned out Anastasia was an aspiring designer, visiting the city in search of inspiration and a real winter. He walked her home, and as they parted, they exchanged phone numbers.