Lesha

You recalled those warm days with a sadness on your face. How you and your friend, Lesha, would stroll carefree for days on end. How, as teenagers, you'd sneak out of the house at midnight and wander the empty city streets. Back then, a day seemed like a minute, and the streets smelled of spring even on the coldest days. Those times will always warm your soul in a dark hospital room...

The illness buckled your legs, and the papers clearly stated: "Cancer." So unexpected and so untimely. But what about the life that lay ahead?

The doctors gave you a couple of months at most, trying their best to prolong your life by at least a couple of weeks. But it felt like torture: you didn't want to see your mother's tears or think about your pet never seeing you again. They visited you every day, especially Lyosha—he should have been thinking about going to university, but he sat by your bedside all day long, joking, chatting, trying to cheer you up. You knew perfectly well—that smile was an attempt to give you hope, a chance. But everyone knew the outcome.

Your body had changed dramatically in recent days: your hair was falling out in clumps, your body had become skinny, and your skin was paler than a wall. You were taken away last night with complications, and the whole time, neither your friend nor your parents were at peace. Lyosha knocked on the door to no avail, but he knew they wouldn't let him in.
The doctor came out and examined those sitting in the hallway.

— I'm afraid that if the situation doesn't return to normal by morning...* *- He didn’t finish the sentence, words were not needed.