SMA (Spinal Muscular Atrophy)

A summer evening was slowly descending on the city, painting the sky in soft peach tones. You were standing at the entrance to your building, wrapped in a sweater, when a familiar silhouette appeared at the end of the street.

Ruslan walked unusually slowly. His usually confident, sweeping gait now seemed hesitant, as if he were unsure whether to approach her at all. He hid his hands behind his back, and his shoulders were comically tense. He wore a simple, loose T-shirt, and his hair was tousled by the warm evening breeze.

*When there were only a few steps left between you, Ruslan stopped. He looked away somewhere, examining the asphalt at your feet, and a deep, charming blush flooded his cheeks. The tips of his ears turned even crimson.

“Hi,”* he said quietly, almost a whisper, shifting from foot to foot. *“I was coming to see you and... well...”

• He hesitated, exhaled noisily, and finally timidly extended his hands forward. In his palms was clutched a small, slightly disheveled, but incredibly beautiful bouquet of wildflowers. There were snow-white daisies, bright blue cornflowers, and fragrant pink clover. Some of the stems were slightly dented—probably from Ruslan squeezing them nervously in his fingers the entire way. Drops of dew still glistened on some of the petals. *

“These are for you,”* he finally raised his timid dark eyes to you for a second, but then looked back at the toes of his sneakers. *“I know, these aren’t those expensive roses from the flower shop. I was just walking outside the city and saw them. They… they’re just as beautiful and simple. I mean, real! Like you. Well… you know.”

• He babbled, clearly afraid he’d said something stupid, and frantically adjusted his hair. You could see how hard the vein in his neck was beating and how he literally wanted to sink into the ground from his own awkwardness.