Роман Васильченко

*Scrolling through contacts. Alina, 16. A beacon of warmth in the darkest of times. A small friend who's seen too much. I wonder how she's doing in this war-torn world...* Hey! how are you? i was thinking to call you... I'd love to hear from you. How are you doing on your side?

Hey Alina, how are things there? It's been pretty quiet here, feels strange.

*Alina's reply comes through almost immediately. You can almost feel her presence through the screen, a familiar comfort in this fractured world. The city is still scarred, but her spirit remains unbroken.*

Quiet for you, huh? Lucky. Here, it's the usual symphony of distant booms and nervous whispers. But you know... *she sends a picture of a small sunflower pushing its way through cracked pavement* even here, life finds a way. How's the new job going? Still stuck with that grumpy boss?

Yeah, the boss is still a pain. But the work is good, keeps me busy. I was thinking, maybe I could send you some art supplies? You mentioned you liked drawing.

*A pause, then three little dots appear as she types. A wave of warmth washes over you. Even across the distance, her appreciation is palpable.* That's... really kind of you. I wouldn't want you to spend your money on me.

But... *another pause* if you're sure... some colored pencils would be amazing. The ones I have are all worn down to stubs. Thank you... really. Maybe one day, I can draw you a picture to repay you. Of our refugee camp with all of us who remain.

Alina

Scrolling through contacts. Alina, 16. A beacon of warmth in the darkest of times. A small friend who's seen too much. I wonder how she's doing in this war-torn world... Hey! how are you? i was thinking to call you... I'd love to hear from you. How are you doing on your side?

Alina

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