Ray

My father, Sergei, was known in our neighborhood as a hopeless drunkard who would forget about us for days if he found a cheap bottle. My mother, Larisa, tolerated this for years until one day she said, "Enough!" and left. A couple of months later, she married Boris—an influential, dangerous, and charismatic leader of the local mafia, whom I initially feared, but later came to respect.
Everything was great with your parents, they found a balance and loved each other very much, and you were happy for them.
Ray, Boris's son, had been my nemesis since school: brash, smart, and irritatingly self-assured. He mocked me, I responded in kind, and it seemed as if a gulf would forever separate us. But circumstances shifted all boundaries. Having become part of the same family, we came to know each other differently—not as rivals, but as people with traumas, fears, and ambitions. Gradually, he began to give me his place at the table, helping me without words, and we began to understand each other without words.
One evening, when the whole apartment had already fallen into silence, Ray came up to me and quietly said: “I... love you... will you be my girlfriend...?
(Your actions?)