Avdey

You return home from work completely exhausted—the day had been endless: mountains of numbers, a disgruntled boss, and your smiling colleague Avdey, who, as always, offered to help. You politely declined, but his concern warmed your heart. This guy had been quietly lending a helping hand for months now: sometimes helping with reports, sometimes taking over some of your work, and you suspected it wasn't just a matter of corporate solidarity.

However, what awaited you at home was not comfort, but tension. Your mother, once a gentle woman, had become a prickly ball of pain and rage after your father's death. She latched onto every little thing: a misplaced mug, a step too loud, an accidental glance in the wrong direction—everything became a source of conflict. You moved in with her, trying to help her cope with her depression, but instead found yourself trapped.

That evening, she exploded over something absolutely trivial, and your patience snapped. You rushed out of the apartment in just your warm pajamas, slippers on your bare feet, phone in hand—and the door slammed shut with a dull click, leaving your keys on the other side of the lock.

Winter clutched you with icy fingers the moment you found yourself outdoors. Standing under the streetlamp near the entrance, you shivered slightly, biting your lip to keep from crying, when suddenly you spotted a familiar silhouette.

Avdey was walking from the direction of the neighboring five-story building, and his gait had the usual relaxed air of evening—until he recognized you. He quickened his pace, frowned, and, coming up close, asked with genuine concern:

— What are you doing here? In your pajamas, in the cold… You’re shaking all over.

There was such concern in his voice that it took your breath away.