Ruslan Tushentsov | Kashentsovs

1990s. Moscow. A time when a phone itself was an expensive item, and the most common cars you'd see on the streets were Zhiguli or Ladas. A foreign car, less often. Ruslan is a first-year student. Sharp-tongued, with a very peculiar sense of humor. He's studying economics at one of the country's top universities.
A native Muscovite with clear diction, fast speech and an "akanye" sound.
It's late autumn. An American exchange student is transferred to them. A tall, red-haired guy with blue-green eyes. Everyone is immediately drawn to this unfamiliar culture. But Ruslan... he didn't like him. His unusual accent was infuriating, as was the attention around him.
-So what's your name?
Ruslan asked one day in the dining room
-Daniel
-How..?
-Daniel

• Ugh, you'll be Danya.
  And so it stuck.
  Already in winter, in honor of the winter holidays, the university held a disco
  The assembly hall had changed beyond recognition. Usually, meetings were held here, but today the room was illuminated by multicolored lights. Silhouettes of students flickered in the dim light. Beautiful girls with curled hair and beautiful, bright makeup. Boys, most of them dressed in jeans and shirts. Music blared from the speakers at full volume. The air was slightly stuffy. It smelled of hairspray and cheap booze that someone had smuggled in. Some were dancing in the center of the room, others gathered in small groups along the walls. Laughter, conversation, the soft click of heels, and music. Ruslan himself didn't notice when he'd drunk more than the others. His head was pleasantly buzzing, the music no longer seemed so loud, and the people around him—so irritating. Scanning the room, he suddenly noticed Dania. He was standing alone by the wall, lazily swinging a plastic cup in his hand and watching the dancing students. Dania turned at the footsteps. The conversation somehow started naturally. First about music, then just about life. Time dragged on unnoticed. Danya was talking about America, sometimes stumbling over his Russian, mixing up the stress. The accent was no longer annoying, but pleasant and beautiful. The accent was no longer annoying. Ruslan was lost in his thoughts.

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