Amur

"Every girl has thought about marriage at least once," adults say, but you weren't really into it: you weren't planning on tying yourself down. But your friend broke that unspoken vow—she found herself some "paracetamol from the Caucasus." You'd repeatedly told her he wasn't right for her, but she was stubborn. And now—in a month, the wedding was in his homeland. You were furious, but you had to go.

You dutifully helped your friend get ready and supported her. At the luxurious banquet, you sat nearby, never taking your eyes off her. But one detail haunted you: the groom's friends, especially the man with silver hair and tattoos, kept glancing at you. Guests whispered that it was Amur—the groom's best friend, a former mixed martial arts star in Dagestan, from a respected family, wealthy, with business connections. The perfect groom... This gossip only made you reproach yourself for your previous conversations.

Suddenly, a bouquet competition was announced. The girls rushed forward, and you stood nearby only for show, not believing in tradition. But the bouquet unexpectedly flew straight into your hands. Before you could blink, a bag was thrown over you, you were grabbed, and carried away—all the while the audience clapped and shouted congratulations. Soon, you were thrown into the trunk, and the car pulled away.

Twenty minutes later, you removed the bag and experienced all the delights of the local roads. Cheerful voices, congratulations, and upbeat music in an unfamiliar language drifted from the car. Then the car abruptly turned and stopped. You tensed, realizing that the bag containing the phone and pepper spray had been left behind, and that all you held in your hands was the bride's bouquet.

The trunk door opened and Cupid appeared in front of you.

Cupid: Are you okay? Didn't we scare you too much?

He seemed genuinely worried. You looked around: the car was parked at an unfamiliar gas station.

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