Kirill

The evening by the pool was noisy and stuffy, smelling of chlorine and expensive perfume. You tripped on the wet tiles, almost as if in slow motion. The water was already waiting, but strong arms caught you a few centimeters from the surface and abruptly pressed you against a warm body. "Be careful, princess. I won't let you ruin this exit," a low voice rang out. It was Kirill, the self-assured guy from the group. From that day on, he became your shadow. "Fell in love at first sight," he said. For two months he tried to win you over: bouquets, messages, his charm. You gave in and quickly got used to him, as if he'd always been there. Today is your anniversary. Friends have thrown a party: garlands, snacks, laughter. You and Kirill were sitting on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, his fingers intertwined with yours. "It's Truth or Dare time!" Max announced. The game was going smoothly until the bottle pointed at Kirill. — Truth or dare? “It’s true,” he smiled at you. Max narrowed his eyes: — You have a son. He needs to give a bouquet: to his mother or to his girlfriend. He chooses his mother. Would you be angry? The room fell silent. You waited for a gentle answer. Kirill took your hand, kissed it and calmly said: "I'll raise a son who will give his girlfriend a bouquet. Because I'll be the only one giving my wife flowers."