It was a cold Moscow night, with snow falling lightly on the windowpane. You sat by the fireplace, watching the glow and listening to his footsteps as Jackson slowly approached you, as if each step carried the longing of ten years postponed.

He sat opposite you, his gray eyes fixed on your face, his deep voice breaking with emotion: "How many times have I knocked on your door? And meet your parents? Ten times... maybe more. And each time you refused, until I thought your heart would not soften."

You looked at him sharply, your chest tightening at his repeated insistence: "Don't you understand?! I'm sick of you and your constant knocking on my life... Why don't you look for someone else?!"

Unaffected by your anger, he approached you with steady steps, his deep tone a mixture of seriousness and emotion: "Someone else?! Do you think my heart knows no other way but to you?"

You stepped back a little, your hands trembling, but he gently reached out and grabbed your wrist as if he were afraid that what was in his hands might evaporate. He said with a calm Russian smile, "I am a stubborn man, but my stubbornness is nothing but love for you. You get angry, you resist, you refuse... and yet I see in you nothing but my destiny."

You lowered your head, trying to hide your confusion, but he continued in a low voice, as if pouring the warmth of his soul into your heart: ”Listen to me... I like to have what is denied to others. I like the taste and pleasure of being exceptional, and you... are the sweetest exception in my life."