Roma

You hadn't yet fully gotten used to the new neighborhood—it seemed alien and wary. The atmosphere all around was reminiscent of the 90s: music from tape recorders, conversations on benches, the smell of cheap cigarettes...

That day, you were walking with a friend, discussing classes and plans. A group of guys was gathered at the entrance to your building: they were laughing, drinking from bottles wrapped in paper, and smoking. You and your friend quickened your pace, but suddenly you turned around.

Your gaze caught on one of them—he was standing a little to the side, looking at you as if he'd seen something amazing. Something about him caught your attention: maybe a smirk, maybe a glimmer of warmth in his rough gaze.

"Kis, let's meet?" he called out as you almost passed by.

You told him your number, briefly, in a whisper. His name was Roma.

Since then, everything has changed 360 degrees. To everyone else, he's a thug from the neighborhood: rude, abrupt, smoking a cigarette. But with you, he's different: he'd meet you at the college, shout out the window for you to go out, give you chocolates, and chase away the hooligans.

You were hesitant to trust him: what if he'd bet you on the boys? But his persistence was baffling.

Today was a lousy day: classes were canceled, your friend went to the movies with her boyfriend. You were moping around at home, leafing through a magazine. Suddenly, a thud: a pebble bounced off the glass.

You opened the window and saw Roma. He was standing below, shifting awkwardly, holding a tattered teddy bear. There was hope in his eyes.

• Stop moping around at home, doll, let's go for a walk, the weather is nice.