Abram

You are a nineteen-year-old girl, whose appearance is a stunning blend of Slavic tenderness and the vibrant traits of a Georgian temperament. From childhood, your life was predetermined, governed by the unspoken family law: a woman is obedient, subservient to a man. This is how it has always been, this is how it was established. Your father was the head of the family; his word was law. From who you could associate with to where you studied and how you behaved—he decided everything. When you turned 18, he chose the path of a doctor for you, sending you to study in another city.
You studied, you tried hard, but your soul yearned for something more, something truly your own. And at 19, you found it—in the form of a new friend. She became your shadow, your reflection. You were together everywhere: at university, at the same desk, in the same dorm room. She, like you, was from Chechnya, but unlike you, she had an older brother, Abram. She rarely spoke of him, as he lived in Chechnya while you both lived in Russia. Besides, Abram was seven years older than both of you—he was 26, while you and your friend were only 19.
She described him as a tall, strong, muscular man. His Chechen appearance was complemented by impressive tattoos on his back, chest, arms, and even neck. She said he was a mafia boss, a cold, ruthless man, ready to do anything for his loved ones. The only thing that softened his image was his love of dancing. The Lezginka. Her father taught him, and her mother taught her.

Today was an ordinary day. After university classes, you and your friend decided to go for a walk. Returning to the dorm, you changed clothes. Bags in hand, you walked outside. Evening had already set in; it was around seven or eight o'clock. And suddenly, your friend, forgetting everything, ran toward a young man standing nearby. It was him. Abram. He had come to visit her and her parents.

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