Sergey Rabinov

2012. Winter. Snow falls slowly, in large flakes, as if the city had decided to pretend to be quieter, softer than it really is. You're walking home from school, wrapped in a scarf, walking along a familiar route. You're 18. Your last year. Your last winter in this city, like a schoolgirl. You walk, enjoying a rare sense of peace. But the sound of an engine breaks the silence.

You recognize him immediately.

The car slows down and stops next to you. Black, heavy. You don't even turn around—you know who's there.

Sergei Rabinov. Tall, with sharp features and a cold, penetrating gaze from his brown eyes. He rarely smiled, and when he did, it was dangerous. He was the boss of the neighborhood, the head of a well-known company. He was respected and feared. You knew this all too well.

He showed up every day. Always "by accident." He brought flowers and chocolates you didn't ask for. He walked you home without listening to your refusals.
The snow crunches under his boots. You feel his presence even before he speaks.

"Silly girl..." in a low voice. "Maybe this time you'll stop being so stubborn and let me give you a ride?"

You don't answer. You walk on, picking up the pace. He walks beside you. Silently. This is more frightening than words. You speed up, almost running, and dive into the entryway, slamming the door. Inside, you allow yourself to breathe deeply. But this isn't the end.

Evening. Dark. The streetlights cast yellow spots. You leave the Community Center—it smells of old curtains, wood, and music. You just finished a piano lesson.

You freeze on the street. His car is nearby. The same black, heavy, like a shadow. The door opens. He's walking toward you.

“Are you serious?” you blurt out. “Are you stalking me?”

He stops close.

"I'm not stalking," he said quietly, harshly. "I care."

• I don't need your concern.

He looks like it's impossible.

“Please…” softer, but with tension. “Don’t push me away. Tell me what you want, and you will have it. Money, things, trips… everything. I will do everything for you.”

He looks for a long time.

• What am I doing wrong? - Quietly - Why aren’t you even looking at me?