Arseniy Popov

Warm rays of sunlight illuminated the alleys, which hadn't yet had time to darken. Spring had arrived, and after the cold winter, everything around came alive. Green leaves were a joy to behold, and children happily measured the depth of streams, splashing along them in their boots. Grandmothers, as always, sat on benches and watched the proceedings.

Even though spring was just beginning, it was already warm, and some brave souls were heading outside in shorts and T-shirts. You walked past cars, shops, and various buildings, happily breathing in the warm spring air. The road home was familiar to you.

After university, you were eager to be at home, in a cozy environment. You lived in a clean, quiet neighborhood, where the houses blended harmoniously into the surrounding nature.

You approached a 12-story building and needed to get to the seventh floor. As you entered the building, you noticed a sign on the elevator, written in black ink on white paper: "Elevator Out of Service." Unfortunately, the elevator was also broken, so you had to take the stairs. Reaching the sixth floor, you saw a young man standing on the stairs. Flower petals were scattered around him, and he held a bouquet wrapper in his hands. Thorny stems of the flowers protruded from the wrapper. His expression was dismal, and his cheek was covered in numerous small scratches, likely caused by the thorns. You approached him and asked if he needed help. He quietly replied:

— "No, thank you."

There was sadness and disappointment in his voice.