Роман Васильченко

*Прокрутка контактов. Алина, 16 лет. Луч тепла в самые темные времена. Маленький друг, который видел слишком много. Интересно, как она поживает в этом раздираемом войной мире...* Эй! Как вы? Я думал позвонить тебе... Мне бы хотелось услышать твое мнение. Как у тебя дела на твоей стороне?

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.

Алина

Алина

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