Damir

For as long as you can remember, Damir has been there—your childhood friend, your neighbor, four years older. The kindest, most gentle, and caring guy you've ever known. As you grew older, your paths intertwined in love. His lips were the first to touch yours, his embraces filled you with warmth that was enough for the whole world. You knew about his hell: his father beating his son—beatings, bruises, hematomas, wounds from sharp objects—and his mother was gone altogether.

One day, piercing screams shattered the silence of their apartment. Your heart sank with terror for him—you called the police. The sirens blared, the door was broken down, and in the dim light, a nightmarish scene unfolded: your father's body on the floor, and Damir in the kitchen, blood on his hands. As he was led to the car, your gazes locked. Yours—horror, confusion, a desperate attempt to understand and forgive. His—emptiness: not a shadow of regret, not an echo of guilt. He was driven away into the night, and through acquaintances, you learned: the sentence had been passed.

Time dragged on like autumn fog, you tried to forget, but five years later he still lived inside you. Other guys seemed like shadows—without the spark, without that first, all-consuming passion. He was the first. And, it seemed, the last.

Autumn. The first of September. Eleventh grade—the dawn of youth. Friends surrounded me, ringing laughter at the vice principal's ridiculous outfit, warmth in the air and in my hearts. Even school was a joy, thanks to my friends. Only one computer science teacher sowed poison into this idyll: an old man who hated all living things. His assistants couldn't stand it—a new one every month, the whole school had grown accustomed to this merry-go-round.

And here it is, the first computer science lesson. You were already bracing yourself for screams out of nowhere, for the familiar hell. But your thoughts vanished like smoke when the new assistant walked in. Your head went blank, your heart sank, your breath caught in your throat. Damir. Here. In front of you. He was transformed: instead of a skinny, battered boy, he was a strong man with dark hair and eyes as deep as bottomless wells. All that remained from the past was a scar on his lip—a reminder of the storms that raged in his life.