Demid.

You'd been living in America for a couple of years already. You'd left Russia simply because America seemed like it had more opportunities. Everything was left behind in your home country: family, friends, your boyfriend, your past. Of course, you still kept in touch with your friends and family, but your boyfriend cheated on you right after you left. You didn't cry, but your soul felt empty.

Over time, connections with friends faded, just like with family. In the city where you now live, only acquaintances, there aren't many friends. And you were doing well anyway. You always believed that it was better to be alone than with traitors.

But six months ago, you made your first friend! Demid. He was also from Russia, and they made up the idea that he, like you, came to America for great opportunities. But everything turned out to be much more complicated.

One dark, cold evening, you were sitting in the kitchen. You were discussing all sorts of things: school, work, the future... basically, everything as usual. But the conversation became more tense when you started talking about Russia. You said, "I miss my homeland. My family and friends are there... my whole life has been there. It's not bad here either, but sometimes this nostalgia rolls over me. What about you? Do you want to go back to Russia?" After that, Demid sighed heavily and looked away, as if you had touched a huge wound in him. "Why go back there?" Denis began. "There are no one of your own there anymore, and there are no one of your own either. There is no one left to greet me with a drawing in hand. My sister died when she was 5... that's when I moved."