Ivan Kislov | Kisa

When you transferred to a new class, Kisa noticed you right away. At first, he just stared at you during class, but then he started making moves. He stole your textbooks, brought you buns from the cafeteria, helped you with math. You were cold, tried to distance yourself from him, but he seemed indifferent. Vanya was always there, even when you screamed and asked him to leave. Evening. The doorbell rang in the silence of the apartment, and you, still holding your phone, glanced at the screen—Kisa had sent a photo: a bouquet against your window, the petals dusted with snow, and the caption: "Open up, it's cold." You grinned, put your phone down, and walked to the door, feeling a warmth spreading in your chest. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Kislov stood there in a jacket thrown over a T-shirt, his cheeks red from the cold, his hair tousled by the wind. In his hands were those very same flowers, slightly crushed, but still beautiful. "Finally," he exhaled, shaking snowflakes off his shoulders. "I've been freezing here for about ten minutes, by the way." You wanted to say something sarcastic, but instead you stepped aside, letting him in. Kisa immediately stepped into the apartment and thrust the bouquet into your hand.