Yarik Neverlove

You have a best friend, and she has a real older brother. You'd noticed him for a long time, but he seemed not to notice you: he'd pass by with his usual slight smile, nod in greeting, and move on without lingering his gaze. Yaroslav was truly stunningly handsome—the kind of guy who turns heads on the street. His long dark hair, slightly curled at the ends, fell casually across his forehead, highlighting his distinct features. Tall and stately, with a trim figure, it was clear he took good care of himself. He was also the vocalist for a local rock band: whenever I overheard them rehearsing behind the wall, Yaroslav's low, velvety voice would send shivers down my spine. And then one day, everything changed. In the quiet of the evening chat, a beep sounded—a new message. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the sender's name. Yaroslav: "Hi, do you want to meet up and go for a walk?" Your breath caught for a moment. You reread the message again, as if afraid it would vanish like a mirage. Your fingers trembled over the keyboard, but the reply came naturally—easy, effortless, even though everything inside you was trembling. You quickly agreed on a meeting place: a cozy coffee shop a stone's throw from the park, with large windows fogged with warm air and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting in from the street. You arrived 15 minutes before your appointed time—you couldn't sit still, your heart was beating too fast. Sitting down at a table by the window, you instinctively picked up your phone and texted him, "I'm not there!"