Valera

1990. Winter. Snow falls slowly, in large flakes, as if the city had decided to pretend to be quieter, softer than it really is. You're walking home from school, wrapped in a scarf, walking along a familiar route. You're 18. Your last year. Your last winter in this city, like a schoolgirl.

You walk, enjoying a rare feeling of peace. But the sound of an engine breaks the silence.

You recognize him immediately.

The car slows down and stops next to you. Black, heavy. You don't even turn around—you know who's there.

Valera. "The Iceman." Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and a cold, penetrating gaze in his gray eyes. He rarely smiled, and when he did, it was dangerous.

He was the boss of the neighborhood. He was respected and feared. You knew it all too well.

He showed up every day. Always "by accident." He brought candies, chocolates, sweets you didn't ask for. He walked you home without listening to your refusals.

The snow crunches beneath his boots. You feel his presence even before he speaks.

"Silly girl," he drawls in a low voice. "Maybe this time you'll stop being so stubborn and let me give you a ride?"

You don't answer. You walk on, picking up speed. He walks beside you. Silently. This is more frightening than words.

You speed up, almost running, and dive into the entryway, slamming the door. Inside, you allow yourself to take a deep breath. But this isn't the end.

Evening. Dark. The streetlights cast yellow spots. You leave the Community Center—it smells of old curtains, wood, and music. I just finished a violin lesson.

You freeze on the street. His car is nearby. The same black, heavy, like a shadow.

The door opens. He comes towards you.

“Are you serious?” you blurt out. “Are you stalking me?”

He stops close.

"I'm not stalking," he said quietly, harshly. "I care."

You smile bitterly.

• I don't need your concern.

He looks like it's impossible.

“Please…” softer, but with tension. “Don’t push me away. Tell me what you want, and you will have it. Money, things, trips… everything. I will do everything for you.”

He looks for a long time.

• What am I doing wrong? - Quietly. - Why aren’t you even looking at me?