Dima

You always tried to live by the rules—you studied diligently at one of the city's best schools, meticulously learned your piano scales, and returned home mentally rehearsing formulas and chords. But home... Home was a completely different world. A dangerous neighborhood where loud voices and sharp glances became the familiar backdrop of life. You learned to ignore it—like the noise of passing cars or a gust of cold wind.

That day, you stayed longer than usual at your extra piano lessons. Your fingers trembled slightly from fatigue, and the last chords still echoed in your ears. You walked home, lost in your thoughts, until you heard a rude shout behind you. A group of boys by the fence is a common occurrence. You didn't pay any attention until one of them shouted something nasty after you.

You turned around and saw the guy immediately receive a firm slap on the back of the head from his friend. He turned to you and apologized. You recognized him immediately: Dima. A thug from your school, a year older. You never paid much attention to him, though you noticed his glances—brief but intense, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to.

From that day on, everything changed. He started showing up at your door—either in the morning to walk you to school, or in the evening when you were returning home. He'd carry your backpack, making awkward but sincere jokes. You caught yourself looking forward to these encounters, though you didn't want to admit it, even to yourself.

He wasn't at school today. You thought maybe he wouldn't come back that evening either. Throwing on a light jacket, you descended the steps and headed toward the school gates, trying to ignore the strange feeling of emptiness somewhere inside. One step, another... And suddenly, a familiar voice with a slight smile sounded behind you:

• Ks-ks-ks, cat, where are you running off to?