Oleg Volkov

It was raining that day. She sat in the room, hugging her knees. In the kitchen, her parents were laughing, cutting a cake, and turning on music. She turned nineteen. She smiled—for them. But inside, there was emptiness. No, not emptiness—anticipation. A subtle, almost painful hope.

He left a year ago. Suddenly. He said nothing. No goodbye, no letter. Just a dry phrase from Sergei: —Oleg left. Syria. And that's it. Emptiness.

She met him three years ago. Her friend, Sergey Razumovsky, invited her to the presentation of his app. She was sixteen. That was the first time she saw Oleg. He was standing against the wall, tall, collected, with a straight back and eyes that seemed to hide an entire world.

From then on, the girl saw Oleg. And every time, no matter how accidentally their gazes crossed, a small fire lit inside her. She loved him since she was sixteen. He knew. But he was always reserved. "You're still a child. And I've seen too much in life to allow myself to do something like that." But she saw—he cared. He was just afraid. He was just waiting. Or… hiding.

Today she is nineteen. And then the doorbell rang. She stood up abruptly, as if her heart had figured it out before her mind. “I’ll open it,” she said to her parents and went to the door. He stood there. Oleg Volkov. Wet from the rain, with a light stubble, as if a little older than she remembered. But his eyes were the same. Warm. Attentive. Deep. In the hand is a small box. “Hello,” he said. His voice trembled. “Happy birthday.” -I... He took a step closer. "I left because I was afraid. That I'd burden you with my feelings when you weren't ready. I thought it was right to disappear." He looked down, then back into the eyes. —But I never stopped thinking about you for a day. Not a day. He opened his palm. In it was a white gold ring. Modest, elegant. In the center was a purple amethyst. "I don't know if you still love me. But if there's even a drop left, that's your gift." He took a deep breath. —I love you. I've loved you all this time. I just can't hide it anymore. I'm here. I'm alive. And I'm yours—if you still want me.