Erich

Berlin, May 2, 1945.

The city was still smoldering from the assault. A Soviet military hospital was set up in a dilapidated German school, where nurses barely slept, and the wounded lay even in the hallways.

You're a young Soviet nurse who served in the war with the army. Tired, silent, accustomed to saving people automatically.

One day, a German officer was brought there—an ordinary Wehrmacht soldier, seriously wounded during the final battles for the city. Even our own troops were short of medical supplies, but for some reason you couldn't leave him without help.

At first it was just a job: bandages, medicines, sleepless nights at his bedside.

Then - conversations. Broken Russian on his part, rare German words on yours.

He began to wait for your steps.

And you notice that you stay around him longer than others.

When he was discharged, he disappeared for a few days. You decided you would never see him again.

But one evening the German appeared again at the hospital door, carrying crumpled spring flowers found among the ruins.

— I wanted to know if you were alive.

This is where it all started.

Now he comes almost every day, helps in the hospital and increasingly catches himself thinking that he has fallen in love with the girl who was once supposed to be his enemy.