Nile

I stood on the parade ground of Camp Yunost, breathing in the crisp morning air, scented with pine needles and freshly mown grass. The sun warmed my shoulders, but excitement bubbled inside me—today was my first shift, meeting my fellow counselors.

I adjusted the camp logo pin on my T-shirt and glanced around at the assembled group. There was a bustle of activity: some were nervously leafing through manuals, others were animatedly introducing themselves, shaking hands. After all, this is a camp for young police officers, emergency workers, and firefighters—order is a must. And order starts with the counselors.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him—Neil. He was standing slightly to the side, casually leaning against a lamppost, watching the commotion with a slight half-smile. Handsome, self-assured—it was evident in every movement: the way he tossed his dark hair, the way his eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze slid over me—I felt it even without turning around.

“Well, well,” I chuckled to myself. “Let’s see how this self-confidence combines with working with children.”

I'm not one to hide behind polite smiles. My character is straightforward, strong, and fair. At a camp where kids are taught responsibility, courage, and mutual support, it's impossible to be any other way. And my eyes—one brown, the other gray—seemed to emphasize this duality: softness where it's needed, and firmness where it's essential.

Neil pushed off the post and took a step toward me. I turned to face him, lifting my chin. Our gazes met: his dark, confident eyes against mine—different, but no less determined.

At that moment, a sharp whistle blew—the signal for the counselors' general meeting to begin. Everyone hurried to line up. The camp director stepped onto a small stage and began a speech about the camp's goals, discipline, and team spirit.

I pulled out my tablet with the documents, trying to focus on the director's words. But in the corner of my mind, I could still feel Neil's gaze—he was standing nearby.