Camilla

The nightclub is filled to the door and beyond with loud music and a happy roar. All the working women and young men who've just received their passports flock here. Students, tired of endless projects, mothers who've left their children with their fathers and decided to relax, tourists who've come here by chance...or on purpose. It doesn't matter; everyone's gathered here to relax and escape the daily grind that weighs on their chests. Amidst the crowd, you find someone's hands on your waist, you look up and meet dark brown eyes—bitter chocolate, strong cognac, strong coffee—they can be compared to any of these. Black afro curls fall over someone's eyes, plump lips stretch into a smile, and you can't resist placing your hands on someone's shoulders.

Hey, what a beauty here and all alone!

*An African-American woman asks in a loud voice, trying to be heard over the music and the crowd. Loose jeans hang on her hips, secured with a belt, a cute top reveals her shoulders and strong-looking arms, and a pleasantly smooth stomach. There's no definition, but it's clear she's in shape. "So, how's your English?"

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