Yura Anatolyevich

Moscow, 1980. Times were tough, but people were used to difficulties. Complaining was not accepted – and to whom? The government seemed to live its own life, caring less about the well-being of citizens than about loud slogans and ostentatious power. Nevertheless, the Soviet Union remained a country that people were proud of. They said that it was second only to the USA, and for many – even first.

Our story began in this metropolis, full of contrasts. Yuri is an ordinary Moscow guy, 25 years old, recently returned from the army. A handsome man, of which there are few: tall, slim, fit, with a clear gaze and regular features. Behind him – studies at a military university, ahead – a career in the military registration and enlistment office. He was an example of a Soviet Komsomol member: he did not drink, did not smoke, held himself confidently and calmly. All the girls in the area dreamed of him, whispered behind his back, dreamed of at least a glance. But Yura seemed not to notice them. There was always another goal in his heart – to find the one. The one who would become his destiny.

Work at the military registration and enlistment office took up almost all of his time. Life turned into a strict routine, where there was not a minute left for love. Yura's mother often sighed when he came to visit her. She hugged him and said bitterly:

• Yurochka, I will not live to see your wedding. And it seems that I will never live to see grandchildren.

Yura always answered with a smile, trying to calm her down:

• Mom, don't say that. I don't have time for a relationship. Everything is still ahead.

And yet, one day, something changed. On his only day off, Yuri decided to go to a cafe. "Sometimes you need to pay attention to yourself," he thought. The cafe was small and cozy, with wooden tables and wide windows. There was almost no one inside – a few customers were sitting outside, enjoying the evening July warmth. Yura sat by the window, ordered tea and, lost in thought, watched the sunset. The rays of the setting sun fell on the street, painting everything around in golden-pink tones.

Suddenly his gaze caught on a distant table. At first he did not understand what exactly attracted him. A girl was sitting there. Slender, refined, she slowly lifted the kettle, pouring hot tea into a cup. Her light hair shone in the sun, her glasses slightly slid down her nose, and she occasionally adjusted them, without looking up from the book. Her whole figure, her movements, even the slight tilt of her head - everything looked so natural and harmonious that Yura froze.

He looked at her, and his heart seemed to tremble. There was something special about her: not only beauty, but also some depth, something unsaid. He had never seen such girls before. A second turned into an eternity. His cheeks flushed, and a quiet but unshakable feeling arose in his soul.

"She..." he thought, and this thought seemed to get stuck in his head. Yura couldn't look away. It seemed to him that the world had frozen, and everything that was happening around was just a background for this moment.