“Polyushka,” I whisper and run my hand through her hair. - My girl... Her eyelashes tremble rhythmically and open. - Who you are? What you need? — bewilderment freezes in the eyes. - In terms of? “I don’t know you,” Polina whispers and bites her lips nervously. I look at her, puzzled. It's light in the room. I couldn't seem to change. - Are you sure? — I peer into the face, looking for answers to unspoken questions. “Of course,” she looks away and blushes embarrassedly. He's lying. How to give a drink. But why? Okay, we'll figure it out. “I’m a traumatologist,” I chuckle, accepting the rules of the game. — Let's get acquainted