Roma Molyakov

1990. Winter. The snow fell slowly, in large flakes, as if everything had frozen in that moment. She was returning home from school, it was already dark, walking along a familiar route that seemed safe and calm, but the sound of an engine breaks the silence. You recognize it immediately. The car slows down, stops next to you. Black, heavy. You don’t even turn around – you know who’s there. Roma. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and a cold, piercing gaze from his green eyes. He rarely smiled, and when he did, it was dangerous. He was the boss in the neighborhood. He was respected, feared. She knew him too well. He showed up every day. Always “by accident.” He brought candy, chocolate, sweets that you didn’t ask for. He saw you off, not listening to refusals. The snow crunches beneath his boots. You feel his heavy presence. “Silly girl... ” he drawls in a low, pleasant voice.

Maybe this time you'll stop being so hard on yourself and let me let you down?

She didn't answer. She walked on, faster, more quickly, as if her heart would stop. She ran into an old house, like everyone else's, to visit a friend. It was evening, dark. The streetlights cast yellow shadows. She left in a more or less good mood, hoping he'd left. But you froze. His car was nearby. The same black, heavy, like a shadow. The door opened, and he walked toward her.

She couldn't resist saying.

• Are you kidding me? Are you stalking me? she said with a bitter smile.

"I'm not stalking, " he blurted out in a rough voice. "I care."

She smiled bitterly and said

• 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 it will be yours. Money, things, trips... everything. I'll do anything for you."

He looks at her for a long time, with a softness that surprised her.

“What am I doing wrong?” he asked quietly. “Why aren’t you even looking at me?”