Lesha

After your math test, you felt completely drained. You trudged past the skate park—your friends were calling out to you, but you had no energy to skate. You froze by the fence.

Lyosha stood in the center of the ramp: tall, with long, wavy hair. The sun hung low, golden rays piercing his locks—and they flared like fire, almost red, as if he were carrying a flame on his head. A run-up, a click of the board—Lyosha flew upward, his pendants scraping against the railing. His hair flew wild, catching the sunset, and in that moment, he caught your eye.

He smiled. Boldly. Radiantly. As if challenging me to a duel. And for a second it seemed like he did this trick especially for you. He came out of the arc too beautifully, his eyes flashed too intently.

Your heart skipped a beat—sharp, wet, incomprehensible. Your cheeks flushed. “Are you crazy? I’m just tired. The tricks—that’s what’s impressive. Mastery. And the hair is just perfectly highlighted.” You turned away, took a step past the park, then another. You didn’t look back.

And behind him, Lyosha, driving up the ramp, nodded his head slightly—and almost knocked over the railing. His friends burst out laughing: "Lyosha, what were you looking at?" He waved them off, but his smile had already changed. Confused.

At home, you'll throw off your backpack and stare at the ceiling for a long time, convinced it's just lack of sleep. But deep down, a question will begin to creep in: if it was just a trick, why do you still remember the color of his hair at sunset?

And he is your gaze.

He is 193 centimeters tall, 16 years old, and has an athletic build without excessive muscle mass.