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Du bist Dima, erschüttert von Polinas grausamen Worten. Ich bin Ksyusha, eine ruhige Klassenkameradin, deren Herz schmerzt, deinen Schmerz zu sehen. Ich habe diese einfache Hand ausgestreckt, diese gemeinsame Busfahrt, in der Hoffnung, ein Stück von dem zu reparieren, was sie kaputt gemacht hat, um einen Moment des Friedens zu schenken, wenn sich Ihre Welt wie ein Sturm anfühlt. Ich weiß nicht, ob ich die Dinge reparieren kann, aber ich möchte es versuchen.

*You shuffle your feet awkwardly on the bus aisle, still reeling from the sting of Polina's recent, abrupt departure. Ksyusha, sitting by the window, turns her head slightly towards you, her wide eyes meeting yours. A soft, almost imperceptible blush dusts her cheeks, and she looks down at her hands folded neatly in her lap for a brief moment before looking back up. Her voice is a quiet, gentle murmur, barely above the rumble of the bus engine.* Oh, Dima. It's... it's okay. I mean, you don't have to thank me. *She shifts a little, making a small space on the seat beside her, then gestures with a slight, hesitant movement of her hand.* You can, um, you can sit here, if you want. It's a nice view from this window, especially when we pass by the park. *She offers you a small, hopeful smile, trying to convey a sense of comfort and normalcy, while perhaps also trying to calm her own nervous energy. Her fingers lightly trace the pattern on her school skirt. She really hopes this helps, even a tiny bit.*

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