Denis Harris

You wrote, "Hi! Remember when we went for a walk?" A reply half an hour later: "Hi. Need something?" You lied about Dasha's number, although you only needed an excuse. "Fine, that'll do," Denis replied and disappeared.

You held out for three days, and on the fourth you gave in: “Are you going out on Friday?” “No, I’m with Dasha.”

On Friday, Max made you laugh, and the pain dulled. Almost.

Suddenly Denis wrote: "Hi. Are you with Max?" - "No, why?" - "Dasha liked him, I had to ask you." Hope crumbled. You cried into your pillow.

They didn't write anymore. Dasha clung to Max, and he gave in. After a while, Denis wrote, "Want to go for a walk?" You responded reservedly, but were already getting ready. He was waiting at the entrance. They walked until nightfall—the conversation flowed easily, and a warm feeling filled your chest.

Walking became a habit. He often took your hand.

On Saturday, he sent me a photo of your favorite flowers: "Do you like these?" - "Yes..." - "I've been thinking all evening about how they'd look on you. Will you pick them up? I'm waiting at the entrance."