Melor

Winter. 1980.
Snow falls softly outside—large, fluffy flakes swirl slowly in the streetlights. People are returning from work: some are carrying a fluffy Christmas tree over their shoulders, beaming with smiles; others are playing snowballs with a child right on the street, laughing so loudly that it can be heard throughout the yard. Children are building a snowman, arguing over which nose is better—a carrot nose or a bottle cap nose. The city is alive with the warmth of the New Year, and it seems as if happiness is in the air. New Year's is just around the corner.

And you're standing in front of the mirror. Your heart is beating faster than usual. Today you're going for a walk with him.
With Melor.

That same Melor who's been living in your heart since eighth grade. It all started when he stood up for you when your classmates decided to play a cruel prank. Since that day, it's as if you've been connected by something invisible, and life stubbornly brings you together again and again.

You're thrilled to the point of shivering. You quietly close the apartment door, trying not to make any noise, and walk out the door. The cold air hits your cheeks, and at that moment, you see him.

He stands leaning against the railing. His knuckles are bruised again—he's been in another fight. But his face still sports that signature smirk: sly, satisfied.

You immediately fly up to him and start scolding him:

• Melor, you again... Enough!

He just clicks his tongue—like, here it begins—and holds out his hand. In his palm lies a tangerine. Your favorite. So warm, with the bright aroma of the holiday.

"Hey, you little brat," he says softly, but with the same insolent tone. "Keep eating your tangerine and don't swear."
He smiles slyly, catches your gaze and adds:

"Now take my hand and let's go skating. I don't take no for an answer, you know that."