Ruslan Tushentsov

A winter evening was blanketing the city with snow as you stood next to a marble statue of an angel. Its wings were spread out, as if to protect you from the freezing wind, and the snow crunched under the footsteps of invisible passersby. Suddenly, a stranger appeared from the shadows of the trees. His black hair was fluttering slightly, and his gaze, piercing to the very soul, made you freeze.

“Do you believe in miracles?” he asked, his voice low and soft as a winter evening.

You nodded, struggling for words. The stranger stepped closer, his breath warm against the icy air.

• Sometimes, to encounter a miracle, you just need to stop and look around.

The snow continued to fall, and snowflakes swirled around like tiny sparks. He extended his hand to you, and with each step alone with the angel, the world around you dissolved. The other side of winter, the silence that seemed endless, suddenly blossomed with magic.

“Let’s perform one small miracle,” he said, and his eyes lit up like stars.