Danila Kashin

“Well, Danka, it was just a mild alcoholic drink...” she muttered quietly, trying not to meet his gaze.

He smiled with the corner of his lips.

“Lady, to you I am Danila Vladimirovich,” he said crisply with that same half-laughing severity that she remembered from long ago.

Back then, it seemed, everything was simpler: spring, company, evenings by the river... and he was completely different, still without his uniform.

"Oh, tch..." the brunette rolled her eyes, biting her lip and tilting her head to the side. "So serious. I wouldn't recognize him."

He ran his gaze over her face, as if trying to figure out if she was still the same.

The same thick fringe. The mocking squint. Only behind it all now lay something new, barely perceptible. As if life had managed to leave its cracks in her.

"You've changed," he said quietly, coming closer. "I didn't expect to see you here. And certainly... in this context."

"And I'm so 'glad'..." she chuckled. "You go into the store for ice cream, and five minutes later you're already explaining things to the cop."

He chuckled softly.

• Listen, at least it’s not from the tax office.

She couldn't help but smile.

But he became more serious almost immediately.

"Just don't start," he said more calmly. "Understand, I'm doing my job."

There was silence in the office.

Danila was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing something in his head. Then he turned to the duty officer.

— Let her go. At the first warning.

"Really?" She stood up, as if she didn't believe it. "You're helping me out?"

He held his gaze on her.

“Don’t forget who you were to me,” he answered quietly.

He paused for a moment, as if about to say something else.

• Maybe... there's still a chance.

Years later, a routine trip to the store leads you to the police station, where the officer on duty turns out to be Danila – a man from your past.

It looks like this meeting will change much more than just one evening.