After finishing my first semester, I decided to return to Moscow to relax and spend time with my brother and friends. Let me remind you that during this time my room was occupied by Gena, who was from the Unification Church and rented it while I was away. When I got home, I stayed in the same room with my brother. Honestly, I didn’t mind at all. It was nice to see that my brother wasn’t alone and that there was a warm atmosphere in our apartment.
Even then, I couldn’t shake the thought that I needed a car. I had a driver’s license and wanted to have at least some form of transportation, even the simplest and cheapest. However, as a student living on a stipend, I had almost no money. Still, that didn’t stop me—I started looking for affordable cars with automatic transmission. After a long search, I took a liking to a gray 2004 Citroën Xsara. The car cost about 130,000 rubles. The only problem was that the seller accepted only cash.
At that moment, I had a credit card with a 150,000-ruble limit, and I decided to take the risk. I withdrew the money from my credit card, paying a hefty fee—about 10–11 thousand rubles. Despite the extra expense, I was confident that I could gradually pay off the debt from my stipend and, after graduation, quickly find a job and close the credit.
The day of the purchase arrived. I arranged to meet the owner and checked out the car. It looked fine: it started up, drove, and nothing seemed suspicious at first glance. We drew up the contract right in the car, I handed him the money, and he left, leaving me alone with my first car. It was a winter evening, slushy, and I sat behind the wheel, full of doubts. I had no practical driving experience and felt insecure. The car was automatic, which made things a bit easier, but the fear of my first solo drive didn’t go away.
Barely making it out of the courtyard, I drove a couple of blocks before realizing I needed help. I called Gena and asked him to come and help me get home. After some time, he arrived, and we set out together. The snow was getting heavier, and I was glad Gena was sitting next to me, encouraging me and keeping an eye on the road.
Unfortunately, there was a mishap. On the Third Transport Ring, I had my first-ever accident: I hit the side mirror of another car. The other driver got out, we talked a bit, and I offered compensation. I gave him two or three thousand rubles, and was able to continue on my way.
After that, we made it home safely. Despite the difficulties, I was happy to finally have my own means of transportation. Thus began my story with my first car, which, like all first steps, was full of emotions, anxiety, and learning.
It was then that Kolya P. got back in touch with me. After buying the car, I went to meet him in Novokosino, where he was living with his wife. Kolya apologized, said he realized his mistakes and had changed, insisting he was now a different person—responsible and reliable. He looked over my car, said I made a good choice, even took it for a drive, and suggested we start over, rebuild our lost trust, and restore our friendship.
At first, I was skeptical, but soon I noticed that Kolya really might have changed. He graduated from the Moscow Automobile and Road Construction State Technical University (MADI) and had found a good job. At the time of our meeting, he was already a construction foreman at the airport in Khabarovsk. He got married, and all of this made it look like he had built a new life. To strengthen our renewed friendship, Kolya suggested we go to Morocco together for a vacation and try surfing.
I was a student, living on a stipend, and had just bought a car with a credit card. Money was tight, but Kolya was practical about it: he found a last-minute package tour to Morocco for two. The 10-day trip cost just over 20,000 rubles, so it came to about 10–12 thousand each—a pretty modest amount. I thought I could manage it, and agreed.
On December 17, just before leaving for Morocco, I managed to get my international driver’s license. This boosted my confidence, as I hoped I could try driving in another country. A couple of days later, with everything packed, Kolya and I flew to Morocco.
Upon arrival in Agadir, a city on the Atlantic coast famous for its endless beaches and mild climate, we started to get acquainted with the local vibe. On the very first day, Kolya said we needed to “buy the most important thing”—hashish. I thought, “Why not?” On the street we met a man named Abdula (later we realized that every other person there was named Abdula), and Kolya started speaking with him in English. When the conversation stalled, I stepped in to help translate, since after my first English-language semester in Innopolis, I felt much more confident. Abdula led us to a small café, where we were served Turkish tea and sold hashish, warning us that we could only smoke in the hotel.
The next day, Kolya and I went surfing by taxi and found a company on the beach that rented boards and wetsuits. One of the staff helped us choose equipment and gave us a short lesson: he explained the basics and showed us how to stand on the board. However, within a couple of hours, I realized it wasn’t for me. I quickly grew tired of wading back against the water every time, which I found boring and exhausting. I told Kolya he could keep surfing, while I would take a taxi back and rent a car to explore the city.
Back at the hotel, I ran into our Abdula again. He recognized me and offered to show me where I could rent a car. Abdula not only took me to the right rental agency but stayed with me while I sorted out the car. Once we were in the car, he asked with a smile, but some doubt, “Are you sure you can handle it?” I answered confidently, “Of course I can.” The first few minutes were a little nerve-wracking—I had only gotten my license four months earlier and had barely driven. Abdula watched closely as I started the engine and got moving, but soon I managed it. We drove a bit, and I dropped Abdula off where he needed to go. He wished me luck, and we said goodbye.
Meanwhile, Kolya kept surfing every day, while I drove around Morocco. I remember how we went to the local equivalent of Auchan, which was called “Marjane.” Overall, the trip was enjoyable, and by the end of it I felt like our friendship was really restored. Back in Moscow, I felt like we were friends again.
For New Year’s, my brother and I were invited by the Unification Church group to celebrate at a house in Malakhovka—the same house where I attended lectures, lived, and relaxed in August 2015. We decided not to miss the opportunity and drove there in my newly purchased car, despite a snowstorm.
The drive to Malakhovka went smoothly, even though the snowfall was heavy. But once we got into the settlement and drove along its inner roads, I made a bad turn and got the car stuck in a snowdrift. I couldn’t get out either forward or backward. I tried for a while on my own, but soon some people passing by helped push the car out. Thanks to them, we made it safely to our destination.
We were greeted very warmly. My brother, Ilyusha, quickly found common ground with everyone. We celebrated the New Year around a festive table, enjoying a cozy and friendly atmosphere. It was wonderful to spend the holiday among people who radiated warmth and joy.
After the celebration, we spent the night at the house and headed back to Moscow in the morning. That New Year in Malakhovka was one of the most heartfelt of my life, and I am sincerely grateful to everyone for their hospitality and support.
After all the holiday events, which left warm memories, I realized they hadn’t gone unnoticed. Before returning to Innopolis, I was overwhelmed by difficult feelings. It wasn’t just sadness or loneliness—my thoughts started circling around Nadya again. Her lack of understanding of me and what I was doing started to torment me once more.
I realized that I had already finished my first semester at a challenging university, gotten my license, bought a modest but my own car, and helped my brother. One would think I had a lot to be proud of, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that no one noticed or understood this. These thoughts hurt me especially deeply, because I always tried hard, put in the effort, and aimed for more, but in return I only met indifference.
Crushed by these feelings, I broke down. I decided I could allow myself to drink and smoke as a way to deal with the internal tension. Unfortunately, this was a mistake. Since then, I started drinking and smoking again.
In mid-January 2017, I set off back to Innopolis in that very Citroën Xsara to continue my studies. My route was from Moscow to Kazan, and I decided to pick up passengers through BlaBlaCar. My companions turned out to be two guys who needed to get to the town of Volzhsk, near Kazan and Innopolis. I remember them jokingly praising their town: “Volzhsk is the second city in Russia. If it weren’t for Moscow, it would be the first.” That made the trip even more fun and interesting.
When I first arrived in Innopolis in my own car, it seemed that life would become much more convenient with personal transport. I especially looked forward to comfortable trips to Kazan, to sometimes go to the movies or shopping centers. I remember meeting a girl on a dating site once and deciding to drive to see her in Kazan. We had a nice evening at the cinema, but unfortunately, our communication quickly fizzled out.
My studies were tough, but still easier than in the first semester. I had already gotten used to the process, and everything was going at a steady pace. Nevertheless, I continued to be haunted by thoughts of Nadya. I worried that she didn’t see or know about my achievements. I felt that if she knew how hard I tried, how honestly and persistently I studied, her opinion of me might change. I sincerely believed she should know that I was not like Kolya, Vasya, Zhenya, and the others—I was an honest and conscientious person.
During this period, we students began to be assigned to teams for a project that would become the basis for our theses. Real companies proposed tasks, and we had to solve them using technology and data. I ended up in a team of four, and our task was to analyze big data from school diaries in the Krasnodar region. We created a prediction system and analyzed patterns in student performance. For example, I discovered that as the temperature outside increased, students’ grades started to drop. This finding became one of our team’s notable achievements.
In the summer of 2017, I was at the final stage of my studies at Innopolis. The last exams and the thesis defense lay ahead. The day I took my final exam was full of surprises. I got behind the wheel of my old car, which I had bought with a credit card. It had been giving me trouble for a long time, but I didn’t think it could become a problem.
On the way to the university, my car started acting up: suddenly, thick smoke began pouring out from under the hood. Stopping was not an option—I was in a hurry. I had to drive it to the limit, but just one kilometer from the campus, the engine completely died. I left the car right in the middle of the road in Innopolis and ran to the university so I wouldn’t be late for the exam. Luckily, I made it on time and passed successfully.
Right after the exam, I dealt with the car: I called a tow truck, and we went to the nearest repair center. But the tow truck driver was sly: in Kazan, his rates inside the city were free, but outside the city they were paid. Since Innopolis is about twenty kilometers from Kazan, he first drove all the way to the city, and then started circling Kazan, charging for every kilometer. This significantly increased the cost of the trip. In the end, we got to a car service center on the other side of the city.
Having overcome these difficulties, I successfully completed my studies. According to the contract, after graduating from Innopolis, I was required to work for a year in a resident company. At that time, the company “Iteco” made an unexpected move: they offered to officially list me as working in Innopolis, but actually have me work in Moscow. This option allowed me to fulfill the terms of the contract while returning to my usual environment, staying in the capital. I realized this was the perfect solution—it combined my professional obligations with my personal plans.
When I finally left Kazan for Moscow, new challenges awaited me. I got stuck in a traffic jam that stretched for many kilometers. Then, the driver of a Mercedes in front of me decided to bypass the traffic on the shoulder, and I, without thinking much, followed him. Everything went smoothly until both of us were stopped by the police. The Mercedes got a ticket, and I got one too. I signed the citation and returned to the line with a sigh.
The most surprising thing happened two weeks later: a traffic officer called me and told me that the period for paying the fine with a discount was just beginning. It was a pleasant surprise, as I had already thought I’d lost my chance to save money.
