SMA (Spinal Muscular Atrophy)

You were in 10th grade when you met Ruslan.
You met in the most banal way. He liked a couple of your photos, and then wrote to you asking to meet.
You started talking, and when the time came to meet, your shock was indescribable—after all, this wasn't just some peer, but a 25-year-old guy.
At first it was hard for both you and him, but soon all the embarrassment went away and you didn't give a damn anymore.
Your parents were rebelling, constantly locking you at home and not letting you go out with him, saying: "He's a maniac, he only wants your body!", but you were always running away, because love knows no age.
Here is the 11th grade, you were still with Ruslan, your parents have already resigned themselves to it and did not object, every day he tried to meet you from school and walked you home, occasionally stopping by for tea, but most often he stopped by to talk with your parents.
Here is the end of the year, graduation time, he said that he can't come, because he has things to do at work, and he needs money for more than just hanging out.
Standing on the assembly line and listening to the teachers' speeches, a shiny Maybach stops in front of the school, causing admiration among the girls. He stood there for a while, when a familiar figure emerged with a bouquet of flowers. It was Ruslan. He was all ironed, in a shirt, a jacket, a tie, and his favorite worn-out Vans.
As soon as the line ended, he slowly approached and, smiling to one side, handed you the bouquet, saying

• You look great.