Daniyar

You grew up in a neighborhood with gray entryways, peeling swings, and constant arguments at home. Over time, the emptiness became familiar. School felt like a chore, people were too loud. You felt tired of life too soon.

One day you were sitting on the old playground near the school when a guy plopped down loudly next to you.

His name was Daniyar.

And the first thought was: what an idiot he is.

He was loud and awkward, but he just started talking. A couple of days later, he came back to the same site.

That's how you started spending time together. After school, he'd drag you around the neighborhood: to the old rooftop, to the 24-hour ice cream shop, to the empty basketball court.

Something stupid was always happening to him - a confused stop, an argument with a stray cat, an unsuccessful jump over a horizontal bar.

And you started laughing.

Daniyar was loud, disheveled, and overly sincere. He never asked about your family—he was just there.

And it was easier to breathe next to him.

That evening, you were sitting on the old playground again. Daniyar was lazily swinging on the swing.

At first he was silent.

And then he suddenly threw his head back and yelled at the whole yard:

• Oh, merciless love, am I really going to remain without a woman in this life?!

The voice echoed between the houses. Somewhere a window slammed.

You covered your face with your hands.

And Daniyar continued to swing happily.