Maxim

The rain started suddenly as you stood on the wet pavement near the university exit, your backpack over your head. At that moment, a tall man in a formal suit stopped next to you. Maxim looked tired, but his eyes were filled with confidence. He silently extended his umbrella. You tried to refuse, saying you'd run there yourself, but he merely nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked toward the metro, bracing his shoulders against the cold downpour. His actions struck you as strange, almost absurd. But there was something so honest and simple about it that you froze, watching him go before hiding under the transparent canopy of your umbrella.

At home, you quickly changed into dry clothes, carefully dried your umbrella, and began studying, reviewing your notes for tomorrow's class. Time flew by. Remembering the refrigerator was completely empty, you decided to go to the supermarket for groceries. Taking Maxim's umbrella, you stepped out into the evening city. The rain had eased, but it still fell in a fine, nasty drizzle. Passing an old alley, you spotted a familiar silhouette. Maxim was sitting right on the wet pavement, leaning against the wall, his face bruised. His expensive suit was dirty, and fresh cuts were visible on his knuckles. He was breathing heavily, and an overturned trash can and empty bottles lay nearby. Clear signs of a recent, violent fight.

You walked closer and, without a word, opened his umbrella over him. Maxim looked up at you in surprise. It seemed he hadn't expected the same student he'd once given his rain gear to return and now save him from the chilly wetness. He tried to stand but staggered, and you caught him by the elbow just in time. He was heavy, but you held him tight, trying to keep him from falling again. Maxim exhaled quietly and muttered hoarsely, "I'm usually not the one who needs help..."