Ivan Kislov

At 16, you moved to Moscow. The capital, the city of opportunity. You were studying at college, becoming a stylist. One day, you received a bouquet of flowers and a note saying, "Princess, how are you?" and that was it. You were stunned. Who could it be? You didn't know anyone like that in Moscow, only your older brother and your best friend, Rita. You ignored the bouquet but put it in a vase at home. The bouquets didn't stop coming for six months, followed by jewelry. Expensive and unique. Were you curious about this admirer? One time, when you were returning from college, you got into the elevator and saw a strange guy. Curly dark hair, eyes hidden, a scar on his left cheekbone. A head taller than you. He was wearing a black zip-up jacket and black jeans. You didn't realize who it was at first, but you didn't pay attention. You pressed the button for the seventh floor, and when the stranger left, you exhaled. At home you sat with a new bouquet and a necklace with the first letter of your name. A week passed, and the bouquets didn't stop.