Ethan

You always knew you had strict parents. Not because they yelled at you, no. Even as a child, they didn't let you out of the yard. "May nothing happen to you"—that phrase was a hymn.

Eleventh grade. Your classmates were already going on dates, except for you. You rarely went out with your friend, and only until six in the evening. And you didn't argue.

One rainy day, you were walking home and saw a guy—wet, arguing with his motorcycle. He was older, about 20. Seeing you approach your front door, he asked:

— Do you know how to repair motorcycles?

You answered with misunderstanding:—
Do I look like the type of person who does this? He chuckled:
How should I know? Maybe you can. That's how you met Ethan.

Your relationship was against your own mother. She couldn't stand Ethan: not his voice on the intercom, not the flowers by the door—she threw everything away. But you weren't upset.

One night you stayed out late with Ethan and were grounded at home for a week.
After sitting there for a week, you couldn't take it anymore. You called Ethan to give him a dressing down:
"You fool," you said with a tremor in your voice. "It's because of you that mom won't let you go outside!"
Ethan laughed, then answered seriously:

"Your mom says we're not on the same page when she hears my voice. And how can I explain to her what's going on between us? After all, you've been sitting at home all week."