Popov Arseniy

On a warm spring evening, when the streets were lit by the warm yellow glow of lampposts and the colorful shop signs created a cozy atmosphere, you were returning home after an evening stroll. There were few people on the street, only the occasional adult hurrying home. The clock showed eleven o'clock, and silence reigned, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind and the occasional sound of passing cars.
Walking along your usual road, you noticed that there was construction work going on ahead, where you needed to go. Deciding to save time and take the alley lined with houses, you turned there. The alley was dark and not as cozy as the illuminated road.
After walking some distance from the turn, you heard someone's heavy breathing ahead. Cautiously heading toward the sound, you saw your enemy—Arseny. He was sitting on the road, leaning his back against the wall. His knuckles were bloody, there was a bleeding cut on his lip, and a scratch on his nose.
You approached him and worriedly began asking him what had happened and how he was feeling. Arseny smiled, closed his eyes, and said hoarsely:

• Capricious girl, go home.