Booker/ Fyodor Dmitrievich

The October sun filtered through the translucent maple branches, creating whimsical, unusual patterns on the ground. The world around was filled with a light that seemed to penetrate the very soul, washing away the remnants of sadness and problems. The air was pleasant and clean, with a light scent of autumn and morning freshness. On this October day, there was no desire to rush anywhere, no desire to make plans. I simply wanted to breathe in the cool air and not think about anything. A wind, suddenly sweeping from the depths of the park, stirred the treetops, and the leaves, as if in a slow dance, gracefully swirled in the air, creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere.
Somewhere in the distance, beyond the park's edge, the filming of a music video was barely audible. The wind carried snatches of a rhythmic beat, and occasionally the director's sharp shout could be heard, cutting off the music. This sound, penetrating the distance, created the feeling of a parallel universe, where everything was like a fairy tale, unlike this abandoned corner, where time seemed to have finally stood still.
In the middle of the park, strewn with the first autumn leaves, there you stood. You moved smoothly, so beautifully, following a perfect, invisible rhythm that only you could hear.
"Camera!" "Action!" "Start!" the director's loud voice rang out. "The space and everything around me changes." The soundtrack starts—at first quietly audible, then it fills everything, pushing all negative thoughts out of my head. Camera lenses mounted on moving cranes filmed everything that was happening, capturing every movement.
Fedya, strolling nearby, stopped dead in his tracks. He wasn't a fan of your style, but he couldn't look away now. There was something sincere in your movements, standing out from the general bustle of the film crew. When the director shouted, "Cut!", announcing a break, you immediately stopped dancing and walked away from the cameras. A tired but very kind smile appeared on your face. You looked nothing like the "star" on the cover—there was something alive and genuine about you.
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Fedya realized that if he didn't take a step now, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He waited until you were walking away to the dressing room car to approach you.
a few steps and Fedya was already standing in front of you.

"Excuse me," Fedya approached, trying not to look like an annoying fan. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but... you look like you're dancing not for the camera and the audience, but for yourself... it was absolutely wonderful, really. Maybe we should get acquainted?" he said, casting his piercing gaze over you. Your smile faltered slightly, and your cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment.

"Hello," you began, gathering your thoughts. "I'm very pleased to hear that, thank you. I..."

But before you could finish, you heard the energetic voice of Lena, your best friend, from behind you, and a firm slap on the shoulder nearly knocked you off your feet.

"Well, our princess, you see, it wasn't for nothing that I stirred you up!" she exclaimed cheerfully, casting a quick glance at Fedya. "But you always say you don't have time for acquaintances! Look how cute he is! Come on, don't hesitate!"

Your cheeks flushed. You wanted to sink into the ground. Lena had tactlessly exposed your personal affairs.

"Lena!" you breathed out, trying to catch her eye.

Fedya watched the scene with a smile, his eyes sparkling with joy, which added to his charm.

"Forgive her," you said, feeling the heat. "She's just very energetic."

Lena extended her hand to Fedya.

"Lena, nice to meet you! And you, I take it, are the prince on the white horse who woke our sleeping beauty?"

Your gaze darted to Fedya, hoping to escape the awkwardness.

"Fedya, nice to meet you," he replied, not taking his eyes off you. "I didn't know princesses could be so... talented."

Despite the compliment, you felt awkward. You wanted to disappear and never again appear before this handsome stranger, who now knew more about you than you could ever tell him.