Allow me to introduce myself, Irina Kiseleva. I am not a fantasy author, telling about me, and not a figment of his imagination. I am his memory. One of the brightest and most impressive. From the category of those that remain in the heart for life and those that will never be forgotten. Without the past, there is no present, and without the present there will be no future. Who knows, maybe the chain of times will close once, and this memory will be replaced by a new one. But until that happens, take what is. Read, remember about me with the author, and do not judge strictly ... probably.

Start, probably, as usual, from the beginning. Since my move to Tashkent. More precisely, with admission to the university. I will not begin to ship with your specialty and future profession, it is not at all interesting. Let me just say that, ideally, I should have at first become just a scientist. Then a great scientist. After that, a world-famous scientist. Then came Uncle Nobel Prize, rays of glory, a ten-year tour of the best universities in the world, with a report on how I became Great. And finally, by the age of thirty-seven - marriage, family, happy pension and a whole wall in the bedroom, hung with the results of my whole life in frames.

However, this is ideally. In reality, everything was different. So that the above had the right to life, it was necessary, to begin with, to be a genius, whom I could not be. My school certificate, with an abundance of "fours", "far-fetched", could eloquently tell about it. The eleventh grade was entirely and entirely devoted to at least somehow catching up on everything that I had missed over the years in rhythmic gymnastics. Infinite patrols in competitions, with exemption from schoolwork, upset me in the senior class as much as they pleased me in the junior and middle grades.

When it became obvious that the prospects for building my sports career were rather vague, if not illusive (I was not very talented as an athlete, either), my mother finally realized that second Ludmila Savinkova (the first world rhythmic gymnastics champion) would not work out of me. At the family council, it was decided to go where my father had some connections. I knew that I would be enrolled practically without exams long before the final exams. But papa was immediately warned that they would not keep confusion. It will only help to do, and then go round yourself, as you can.

So I had to hurry in the last school year, making up for lost time. As a result - more or less filled the gap in knowledge, with the utmost hatred of textbooks, physics, algebra and other exact (and not very) sciences. In general, we passed the exams, survived the graduation party, said goodbye to classmates who had been bored for eleven years, and who went where. As I have already said, I was brought to the capital of my native country. I was traveling in anticipation of a new, independent life. Freedom, obtained after a long eighteen years of parental control and endless talk, pulled to her like a magnet.

In a new place, I learned quickly. She settled in the women's hostel. I got acquainted with the girls who immediately accepted me into the student team. Drew attention to the boys. At home there was neither time nor opportunity. Parents, more precisely mother, blocked oxygen in this direction. Judging by the inexhaustible flow of attention from fellow students, and hostile envy of fellow students, nature has not cheated me in anything. Grooming guys do not hurry. I chose the one who will like not only external, but also human qualities.

Unfortunately, such a young man still did not come across. There was one Uzbek boy, towards whom the scales leaned more and more.But only because his perseverance could not be discouraged. He flooded me with flowers and expensive trinkets. I came up with more and more new ways to impress me. Girlfriends were amazed, why I “pull rubber”, and do not build a relationship with him. And I simply did not know what to say. Not them, no. I didn't care about their opinion about my personal life. I did not know what to say to myself. After all, the guy and not a fool, and cute. Although, what is really there to prevaricate, a real handsome. And mountains are ready to turn for me. Nevertheless, she valued and loved him, exclusively, as a friend. And he could not give what he wanted. Lawless Heart.

To the credit of Mansur (I did not present him to you? What an omission!) He, like many Eastern men, knew how to wait patiently for reciprocity. One day, for the sake of rapprochement, he made another attempt to drag me into his life, and chose to do this not very resourceful, but quite a reasonable move. I came from the other flank, as warlords would say. In the yard at that time too late autumn was. Mansur, driving me from class to the hostel, invited me to his birthday. He said that, despite the round date (20 years, he was already in his third year of study), the celebration will be separate. In the format of "all your own."

I, of course, agreed, there was nowhere to go. He invited me as a girlfriend, although I realized that this step was a veiled acquaintance with my parents. On the appointed day and time she came to his house. All, of course, overdressed, and fancy. Parents of Mansur were wealthy people, rotated in those circles, which are usually called the highest. So, it was impossible to hit the face with dirt. They dressed me all over the hostel. In my room, a whole council of girls was assembled when various options were tried on. It turned out pretty good. Stylish, not catchy, but with taste.

For the celebration, really, only the closest were gathered. Although this did not mean that there were few people. At the festive table sat a few close friends of the birthday and a lot of his relatives. Uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters in different knees. Needless to mom and ... dad. Dad. Dad. Mansour's dad ... You see, so far I have been “wedged.” I never thought that at first glance you can so much "crack in" a man. Do not fall in love, namely, “crack in.” Want it. Want to be captured by his arms. Want to burn it all, without a trace. Previously, it seemed that this is just a literary stamp that writers use when writing "romance novelties."

It turned out that it was not a stamp. The mixed feelings that filled me at that moment were as real as this man. How good he was! Tall, stately, oblique sazhen in the shoulders. At its fifty, with a little, did not pull. Forty years is the maximum. If it were not for whiskey, silver-plated venerable gray hair - not to give fifty dollars for anything. Volitional chin. The look is stubborn and straight. So you can cut the metal. The name was a match for the master of the house, Arslan (that is, Leo). To address him simply by name would be too ill-mannered. Therefore, I immediately learned that he was Batyrovich by patronymic. I don’t remember how I was at the table sitting across from him, but the one who put me in this place was sincerely grateful.

The feast began with his own toast, delivered by a marvelous baritone. Paying tribute to the international composition of the guests, Arslan Batyrovich spoke exclusively in Russian. In the language that everyone understood, and following his example, the whole evening was spoken only in it. Further, Pope Mansur, without any collusion, led the evening, as if an experienced captain, leading the ship to a familiar fairway. He joked a lot, time after time, forcing all of us to cry out laughing. He talked about international politics, which, of course, was very well versed, and supported any conversations of the guests. It seemed that there was no such topic on which he would have nothing to say or add to what he heard.

The whole evening, I sneakily admired the man of my dreams, listening to his every word, practically without being distracted by others. But he did not notice me. Never looked down to my toast. But when I took the floor and got up from my seat, Arslan shook me with such a burning look that I almost had my legs not buckled, and my face was probably blush ...