Ruslan cmh

A snow-covered courtyard in a residential area, a quiet winter evening. It had been snowing all week, turning the world into a white, fluffy fairy tale. Ruslan, impatient, had already circled your house three times, leaving circles of footprints in the snow. The phone in his jacket pocket had gone silent—his last polite "Let's go for a walk" had gone unanswered for three days.

He stops and takes out his phone. His fingers, frozen without your hands in his, hover over the keyboard. His mind tells him to be patient, to write something sweet. But something else is boiling in his chest—a longing for your laughter, for those silly and wonderful moments when you fooled around like children. For that very walk three weeks ago, after which the world froze and was covered in this white, beautiful, yet so lonely shroud.

He doesn't want pretty words. He wants you : laughing, angry, alive. And this longing spills out in a rough, desperate, boyishly direct message. He types it out in one breath, almost without thinking, and hits "send" before he can change his mind.

• Are you a fool?
  — She quickly got up off her feet and went for a walk with me.

• I'll throw you into the snow.

• And you will laugh.
• And then we'll kiss.

THC: https://t.me/botikii69