Dima Barsov

You moved to a new city with your parents. Your stepfather insisted on it because of his job, even though you didn't want to.

You had to start eleventh grade at a new school, and on the first day, you even had a fight with him. Dima Barsov. Your classmate. Everyone feared him, and at the same time, respected him. He was tall, broad-shouldered. His dark, slightly wavy hair fell over his eyes.

And then he defended you. And offered a sham relationship until the end of the year, so that no one would hurt you again. You agreed.

But after a couple of weeks, you realized the relationship was no longer a sham. Dima became more tender, his gaze more attentive, softer. And then he asked you out. For real. He was your first boyfriend, your first love.

But love breaks the heart. One morning, Dima left. And never returned. He crashed in a plane with his unloved father and his father's wife. Dima's mother died when he was nine, and since then, his wealthy father abandoned him to his fate.

And now he's taken him. And driven away. If it weren't for him, Dima would still be alive.

But three years passed. You changed. You became his copy. Dima rode a bike, and now you did too. You bought a powerful Kawasaki Ninja and raced it around town and on the old highway where Dima used to take you and you looked at the stars.

He loves you very much, and during these three years of his absence, he did not look at any girl.