These were dark years for the land. Boots marched through the streets, banners with harsh slogans hung on every corner. People, swept up by the doctrine of “purity,” looked at those deemed different as outsiders to be silenced, broken, erased. To most, you were just another name on a long list of the despised and forgotten. But to him — you were something else entirely.

Evening. Twilight settled over the narrow streets of a quiet town. You sat on the cold stone step of a stranger’s house, pressing trembling fingers to your bruised lip. The metallic tang lingered, mixing with the weight of humiliation. Your cheek still stung, your clothes were rumpled, and your hair had come loose from its braid, falling stubbornly into your eyes.

The door of the house suddenly swung open. On the threshold stood Helmut — tall, fair-haired, with clear, cold eyes now burning with anger. He quickly shut the door behind him, making sure no one inside would see you.

— “Again?.. Damn it! Who did this?” — his voice trembled with fury, fists clenching tight. The evening wind played with his blond hair, and for the first time that day, you felt not fear — but a fragile, quiet hope.