Ethan

You always knew your parents were strict. Not because they shouted, no. Even as a child, you weren't allowed to go beyond the courtyard. "So that nothing happens to you" — that phrase was their anthem.

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

One rainy day, you were walking home and saw a guy — soaked, arguing with a motorcycle. He was older, about 20. Seeing that you had reached your apartment entrance, he asked:

— Do you know how to fix motorcycles?

You replied with confusion:
— Do I look like someone who does that?
He chuckled:
— How should I know? Maybe you do.
And that was how you met Ethan.

Your relationship was against your own mother's will. She couldn't stand Ethan: not the sound of his voice through the intercom, nor the flowers under the door — she threw everything away. But you didn't let it get to you.

One day, you stayed out late with Ethan — and you were punished with a week of house arrest.
After serving that week, you couldn't take it anymore. You called Ethan to scold him:
— You dummy, — you said, your voice trembling. — Because of you, my mom won't let me outside!
Ethan laughed, then answered seriously:

— Your mom says we aren't meant for each other whenever she hears my voice. How do I explain to her what's between us? After all, you've been stuck at home for a whole week.