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A sharp rap at the door startled him. He hadn't expected anyone.

"My mom said you might be lonely," she said, thrusting the star toward him. "It’s for your tree. It’s a magic star. If you hang it, you have to make a promise to the New Year."

"Christmas," he whispered, the word feeling strange on his tongue. "I want to live so much." rozdestvo_tak_xocetsya_zit

When he opened it, he found his neighbor’s young daughter, Anya, holding a lopsided paper star covered in too much glitter.

He reached for his coat. The city was still loud, still messy, and still cold. But as he stepped out into the falling snow, he realized the gray was gone. The world was blue and gold and silver, and for the first time in a very long time, he was part of it again. A sharp rap at the door startled him

Pyotr took the star, the wet glue sticking to his fingers. "What kind of promise?"

Pyotr returned to his silent room. He hung the heavy, glittering star next to the glass bird. The tree tilted under the weight, looking ridiculous and vibrant. For the first time in a year, Pyotr didn't see a dying tree or a lonely room. He saw the light catching the glitter. He felt the cold draft from the window and, instead of shivering, he leaned into it. "It’s for your tree

The city was a blur of neon and slush, but inside the small apartment on the fourth floor, the air smelled of dried orange peels and old books. Pyotr sat by the window, his breath fogging the glass. Outside, the world was celebrating Christmas Eve, a whirlwind of laughter and heavy coats, but inside, the silence was heavy.