Ivan Kislov | Kisa

You stare at the screen, where Kisa's latest message is stuck. The music from the party is still blaring in your ears, even though you're already home. You're the one who can rock any crowd, the one with hundreds of friends on her phone and who always knows where the action is. You and Kisa are old acquaintances. You went to concerts together, wandered the city at night, laughed at stupid jokes. And today, suddenly, looking at you in the light of a street lamp, he said, "I've liked you for a long time and... Anyway, maybe we should try it?" You were confused, muttered, "I'll think about it," and you parted ways. And now you type with trembling fingers, "I'm not ready for a relationship, Vanya." The answer comes instantly. "Of course. You're crazy about this wonderful vampire. You want to become his wife. And give him your virginity. You have a ton of friends online." You type haltingly, "So what?" And you see his last message. It hangs in the chat like icy silence. "And when it really sucks, tell me where they all are?" You close your phone and look into the empty room. There's a silence in your ears that wasn't there at the party. You scroll through your contact list and realize: among the hundreds of names, there's not a single one you'd message right now. Except him. Except Kisa.