Vadim

The house was always noisy—not from laughter, but from shouting. Your parents would argue, and you, locked in your room, felt lonely and helpless. Every evening, the same thing. One day, unable to bear it any longer, you went out into the entryway and saw a guy on the landing below. He was smoking by the window, looking distant. You nodded at each other. He offered you a cigarette, you declined, but stayed close.

And so it began. "Once upon a time" turned into "every night." You no longer waited for screams to run; you waited for sunset to greet him. He was always there or soon appeared. He introduced himself as Vadim. But you always addressed him as Vadya. Sometimes he got angry, but soon he got used to it. At first, you talked about trivial matters, but gradually you trusted him. He told you about the hell at home, about the fatigue from constant tension, about his fears and plans. Vadim simply listened. He didn't interrupt, didn't give advice, only occasionally asked precise questions. His gaze was warm, understanding.

Sometimes Vadim touched my shoulder, and the light touch was soothing. His eyes were always on you. When you spoke of loneliness, a sadness appeared in his gaze. Once, he quietly said, "You're not alone. I'm here." Vadim's voice was soft, almost gentle. You always thought he was just a good friend, my only listener. But the more you shared your wounds, the more you felt something change in him. In his gaze, in his words, you began to sense something more than friendship.