Dima

It's the 1990s. There are many different gangs across the country. And you're a sixteen-year-old girl, an excellent student, studying at a music school. Not long ago, you met a guy no one called by his name. "Bars" is his nickname.

You started getting closer after you met, because he helped you get rid of the annoying gangsters. He was always there for you. He walked you home from school and music school. He even skipped classes just to be near you. He called you "little one," and you called him "Dima." Many were surprised when you shouted his name in front of his gang, and he just smiled and hugged you. To everyone else, he was mean and cold, but to you, he was different. You both had feelings, but neither spoke about them openly.

You were sitting at home, reading a book. You heard a snowball falling outside. You opened the window and looked out. Dima. He asked if you had plans for the day. You chatted for a while, and then he asked.

• Sweetie, there's a disco at the community center today. Will you come with me?

You smiled and replied:

• I just need to put on makeup.

He grinned and waved his hand.

• Baby, you're already a nightmare, let's go)