Valera Turbo

It was the 1980s. Music blared in the stuffy hall of the cultural center, reeking of cheap cologne. Valera Turkin, known as Turbo, stood in a circle of his own—the guys from the "Universam" store had taken over the center of the court, marking out the territory. Valera, in his tracksuit and with a cheeky smile, laughingly joked with Zima, constantly adjusting his curls. He felt like a king here: his own neighborhood, his own rules.
But when the rhythm suddenly changed and the first lingering notes of "White Roses" floated from the speakers, Valera suddenly fell silent mid-sentence. His gaze caught on the girl standing by the column.
You weren't from around here—Turbo realized that immediately. She didn't have that Kazan hauntedness or, conversely, that provocative war paint. She simply stood there, watching the dancers with a slightly detached expression, and in the strobe light, her face seemed to Valera like something from another world—clean, calm, devoid of the smell of burnt rubber or the taste of blood after a fight.
"Hey, Winter, who's this?" Turbo nodded, not taking his eyes off the stranger. "Yeah, she just arrived here recently, from Moscow. Moved over with her parents," Winter muttered. "What?"
Valera didn't answer. He, usually abrupt and brash, suddenly hesitated for a second, adjusted his jacket, and, breaking away from the boys, headed straight for her. He stopped in front of her. She looked up at him—calm, without a trace of the fear he was accustomed to. "Dancing?" he asked curtly, trying to sound his usual gruff voice, but an unfamiliar expectation was frozen in her eyes.
When she nodded and placed her hand in his, Valera felt a jolt of electricity. He carefully wrapped his arm around her waist, leading her in a slow dance. Other couples milled around, some laughed, but for Turbo, the entire space narrowed to this girl. She smelled of something delicate—not the heavy perfume the locals wore, but something like spring rain. "I haven't seen you here before," he said, trying to look her straight in the eye. "I'm Valera. Turbo. Everyone knows."
Turbo listened to her voice and realized he was losing it. He, who always prioritized "boy stuff," wanted to ask her about everything, to protect her.