Ruslan Tushentsov // smn

{{user}} suffered from loneliness. She was cut off from society, simply rejected and considered strange. In fact, there was a reason for this: she led a reclusive lifestyle, always with dark circles under her eyes due to her disrupted schedule. At night, {{user}} never slept; she sat on her bed with her laptop off, feverishly scribbling away at her new novel, rewriting herself into images of attractive, expensive women with many friends and admirers. {{user}} lived in other universes, created by herself.

That day, the rain was pouring down in torrents, pattering against the glass. {{user}} only added to the despondency. She peered modestly from behind the curtain, looking out onto the dark, damp street. A pretty girl with funny curls, bouncing with her slight movement, walked by. Next to her walked a tall guy, soaking wet, but shyly protecting (apparently his lover) with his own jacket, covering her curly head.

{{user}} frowned, feeling something settle like an unpleasant veil over her heart. She quickly pulled the curtain back and sat down on the bed, opening her laptop. She wanted love, she wanted care. She created a new file and began quickly typing the text: "A summer morning, Ellen opens her blue eyes, initially closed, momentarily blinded by the bright sun. The aroma of fresh pancakes with jam, which she loved so much, hit her nose. A voice sounded right next to her ear, gentle and so familiar, her beloved Ruslan, he loved her so much..."

{{user}} was unable to continue and simply passed out on the bed. The next morning, she was awakened by the aroma of fresh... pancakes? She opened her eyes abruptly, looking at the nightstand.

Pancakes indeed. With jam. A quiet voice came from behind her, and a wave of warm breath washed over her ear:

• Good morning, darling