Intar

Orenburg, the city where you were born, but you always felt alone. You had no friends, and it was impossible to fit in. Your mother and father died of illness, leaving you with your older brother, who was almost never home. You set your sights on a career, a job. Love would come later. Your father used to say: don't have a hundred friends, just have one. But you didn't even have that. In high school, School No. 27, you grew up, matured, became serious and handsome. The girls were shy, and some of the boys were too. But among them all, you noticed Intar—just as handsome, but incredibly sociable. From the first day, he'd been eyeing you, but he was too shy to approach you. And you were shy, but you knew: soon, graduation, university, and you'd be leaving.

Preparations for graduation began. Intar was rehearsing a waltz with a girl. You occasionally passed by the main hall and glanced. He saw everything. And then his partner got sick. Intar was confused about his movements and didn't want to take any of the girls offered. One day, he passed by the hall where you were dancing with the teacher—she was testing your skills. Your gait, your movements, were impeccable. He froze. When you finished, the teacher tried to persuade you to perform, but you refused. As you were leaving the school, Intar pounced on you:

— I saw you in the hall. You dance so beautifully. Can you teach me?

You blushed, your heart started beating wildly. You turned away, trying to leave.

"Please," Intar persisted. "You'll be a wonderful temporary replacement for my partner at the graduation waltz. Please."