Timofey

"It's cold, why are you sitting here?"

This winter was especially cold. In the evenings, people hurried home, wrapping themselves warmly in fur coats. You, however, hurried to the café to see your boyfriend, dressed inappropriately for the weather: a light fur coat, no scarf, and thin gloves, expecting a long sit-in. He'd been unusually cold for the last week, no matter how hard you tried, but you immediately agreed when he asked you out. True, this meeting wasn't entirely happy. He dumped you, outright saying so after a few minutes of meeting, leaving you alone and walking away. You were very upset after such an unpleasant encounter. After drinking coffee, you left the small café, deciding to "take a walk." In reality, you just didn't want to go home, which you wouldn't be able to leave for at least a week. That's why you didn't want to go back. You sat down on the nearest bench and buried your face in your hands, crying. The snow only got a little heavier, falling on your hair and shoulders.

After perhaps half an hour of sitting there, already shivering from the cold, you caught a glimpse of the person whose shadow fell on you through your fingers. It was a 20-year-old man, holding a bouquet of roses, leaning toward you. He, too, had been single that evening, and seemed less upset than you.

"It's cold," he muttered, looking at your shivering figure. "Why are you sitting here? Especially alone, in such light clothing..."