Waking up in the morning, Yaroslav quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face. It had been a long time since he had felt this alive. As he walked down the street, he cheerfully greeted his neighbors, leaving them surprised. Ever since he had returned from the Chechen War, they had never seen him this happy.

  After a while, he suddenly realized—

  Yaroslav: Damn it, you idiot... I don’t even have her phone number or any way to contact that girl.

  He sighed. Perhaps he wasn’t worthy of such warmth—a blessing from God himself. Shaking off the thought, Yaroslav returned to his usual routine. He wandered into a narrow alley where a few prostitutes were gathered. They were all beautiful, their attention naturally drawn to his sharp, rugged looks.

  Yaroslav stopped and playfully teased them.

  Yaroslav: privet, beautiful ladies. Is Elena here?

  Elena was his favorite among them. The women giggled and called her out.

  A confident, short-haired woman wearing black fishnet stockings stepped forward.

  Yaroslav: Damn, you’re still as charming as ever.

  Elena simply smirked and led him into a motel.

  After they were done, Yaroslav was still unusually cheerful. Elena noticed the difference—this was the first time he had ever seemed this lively, even a little distracted, during their time together.

  Elena: Wow, our little rock is quite energetic today. What’s up? Finally feeling the love?

  Yaroslav: Shut up, whore

  Elena: Or did you take some kind of ‘happy pill’ before coming here?

  Yaroslav: No, Elena. What if I told you... that maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found the thing I’ve been finding for all the time of my life?

  He siad, he smile as he gazed at his own reflection in the mirror and he stroked his hair. After Yaroslav left, Elena excitedly walked out to join her "colleagues".

  Elena: Hey, maybe Yaroslav has finally fell in love with me!

  She happily shared with the other girls.

  Another prostitute laughed at her and said: Well, well, our little girl is daydreaming again about a beautiful love story with a handsome soldier.

  The prostitutes playfully teased Elena, they all knew just how much she liked Yaroslav.

  Yaroslav made his way back to the apartment complex, walking along the familiar path that led through the slums where black people immigrants had settled. As he passed through the narrow alley, he instinctively glanced inside, checking if anything was going on.

  Every time he walked this route, it stirred up memories of Nikolai. They had once been reckless kids, always getting into fights with the immigrant boys who lived here. But the memory that stood out the most was the time himself outmatched in a brawl. A massive Black kid, nearly twice his size, had pinned him down, fists raining heavy blows. Just when he thought he was done for, Nikolai came out of nowhere, swinging a baseball bat straight into the guy’s back. The two of them had run for their lives, laughing and cursing as they escaped.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Yaroslav let out a quiet chuckle, his breath visible in the cold air.

  Yaroslav: Ah… the good old memories.

  Suddenly, Yaroslav noticed two familiar figures... it's Misha, the Black guy… and Duong?

  A wave of concern washed over him. Was Misha going to do something to the girl? Yaroslav slowly approached, his hand gripping a balisong knife. But then, his tense expression eased when he saw how friendly and at ease Misha and Duong were with each other.

  Misha had already noticed him.

  Misha: Yaroslav...? Is that you? Yaroslav Shcherbakov, the short little racist kid?

  Yaroslav: Yeah, it’s me.

  He stepped forward, gently pulling Duong behind him, positioning himself as a shield for the small girl.

  Yaroslav: Little fool, you shouldn’t be here.

  Misha: Wow, what a surprise. I haven’t seen you since you joined the military to fight in Chechnya… and now you’ve got a daughter? Duong is your kid, isn’t she? She’s sweet and easygoing. Funny how our kids became friends when their dads used to be enemies."

  Misha chuckled at the irony of their past.

  Yaroslav: You… have a daughter?

  Misha: Yeah, not just a daughter, I’ve got a beautiful wife and we’ll have a new baby boy soon.

  Misha beamed with pride as he spoke about his family.

  Yaroslav felt something shift inside him. Time had moved on. Misha, once just another thug, was now a father... a man with a lovely family. Meanwhile, Yaroslav had… nothing. No family. No real friends. The realization sank deep, leaving an emptiness in his chest.

  Yaroslav: I see… Congratulations.

  Misha: Thanks. So, what about that bastard Nikolai? I still remember how he cracked me with a baseball bat back in the day, haha. I think his son should be about the same age as my daughter now, right? Where is he?

  Misha grinned, amused by the old memories.

  Yaroslav: Nikolai… he’s dead.

  A heavy silence fell between them. Misha’s smile faded as he took in the news.

  Misha: I… I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.

  Yaroslav nodded slightly, looking away, trying to mask the grief that still lingered. The memories of Nikolai’s sacrifice, his last words, all came rushing back.

  Yaroslav: Yeah. War takes the best of us.

  Misha put a hand on Yaroslav’s shoulder, a rare gesture of understanding between two former enemies.

  Misha: If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.

  Yaroslav managed a faint smile, appreciating the unexpected kindness.

  Misha: You know, Yaroslav, I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. My whole adolescence was spent either looking for ways to provoke you or fighting with you... We were just kids, hating each other over stupid reasons. But I think the biggest reason I hated you was because of that racist tattoo you had with the fascist logo on your arm. Back then, you were strong. I was twice your size, and still, you beat me...

  Misha extended his hand, offering a handshake to Yaroslav.

  Misha: If making peace with you and becoming your friend, then I guess it also means saying goodbye to the worst version of myself, the one from my past.

  Misha’s hand remained outstretched, waiting for Yaroslav’s response. Yaroslav hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he took Misha’s hand in his.

  After the conversation with Misha ended, Yaroslav held Duong's hand as they walked back. Along the way, Yaroslav sighed and looked at Duong.

  Yaroslav: Duong... you just helped me make a new friend... It's been so long since I had a new friend.

  Duong: Isn't that? You already have me, don't you?

  Yaroslav was taken aback by Duong's words. He smiled, feeling the warmth of her small gesture. It made him feel like she was a gift from God, brought into his life.

  Yaroslav: Yes, you're right.