translation.

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For the past week, my days have been filled with the usual chaos, but at nights, I’ve found myself obsessively reflecting on how we met.

 

He invited me to a dance workshop. I hesitated at first but then decided to join.

 

We paired up for one of the exercises. He’s an actor, which is probably why he’s so open and completely unconcerned with what others think, a trait I absolutely love. I, on the other hand, was incredibly shy and awkward while we danced, which led me to constantly repeating the same few movements.

 

After the workshop, he offered to walk me home again, even though all his friends were taking the tube. He also always offers to hold my bag for me, which I find touching.

 

On the way back, he showed me a trust-building exercise he’d learned at a therapeutic glamping retreat in the Altai region:

 

he closed his eyes and asked me to take his hand and guide him down the street. Then we switched roles. He noticed that, at one point, my shoulders dropped and I finally relaxed.

 

When we reached my house, he hugged me. It was the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced. No arms have ever held me that securely.

 

There wasn’t a hint of flirting on his part, not the slightest suggestion of anything. Maybe he views me, and always has, as just a new friend of his. Or perhaps this is how a genuine connection is supposed to develop: he’s truly interested in me as a person, not in my body. What if there’s something deeply valuable in that temperance?

 

It’s hard for me to understand his intentions, but they seem sincere. I am grateful to Artem for introducing a completely different side of Moscow’s culture to me (even though he’s from St. Petersburg), and for the first time, I began to feel that I was missing out on something by leaving Russia.

 

We will go our separate ways, but now I know how I wish to be cherished by those around me.​

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