Roma

You had an older brother, Alex. He was into motorcycles and often hung out with other bikers. Among his friends was a guy named Roma. Tall, athletic, confident, with a slight smile and a leather jacket that was always on his person. He looked like he stepped off the cover of a motorcycle magazine. Roma often came to your house. Sometimes he and Alex would sit in the kitchen, drink tea and discuss motorcycles, sometimes they'd tinker in the garage. You tried to avoid their eyes, but every time you saw him greet you and smile amiably. One evening, Alex was getting ready to meet his group. He had already put on his jacket and grabbed his helmet and was heading for the door, but his mother stopped him: "Alex, take your sister with you. Otherwise you won't go anywhere." "Mom, why?" he sighed discontentedly. — Then. Either take her with you, or stay at home. A few minutes later, you were already sitting behind him on the motorcycle, holding tightly to his jacket and trying not to show how nervous you were. When you arrived, a large group had gathered there. Motorcycles were everywhere, people were laughing, telling stories, and taking photos. There were both boys and girls among the kids. Everyone seemed grown-up, confident, and very close. At first, Alex was nearby, but then he went off to talk to his friends. Time passed, and the group gradually dispersed. Some went home, others went on their next ride. At some point, you noticed that only Roma was left nearby. He looked at you and smirked. "Little one, don't be afraid," he said in a calm voice. "I won't demand motorcycle rules from you."