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About the author:
Well, I was born in Uzbekistan. When I was three years old me and my family moved to Germany (we lived in Bonn, it’s a small town near Cologne) and lived there for eleven years. I went to a Russian school which was one of the two Russian schools in the whole country (the second one is in Berlin).
In the year 2011 we moved to Kazakhstan where I live now. I finished school here. Now I am a student at a Russian university and a technical translator for my father’s IT firm. I'm also a indie book review blogger and a BookTuber.
What inspired you to write your book?
I started writing this book two and a half years ago. I had a really bad headache, the pain was so bad that I just wanted to split my brain to at least have only half of it. And that's when the idea for Special Minds came to me. I was 17 years old back then and wanted the MC to be my age. So that's when I started writing and creating those characters I soon fell in love with.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Most of the night I stay silent and just watch them talk. It’s as if they’re long lost friends. Overall the night turned out not as bad as I thought, I even enjoyed most of it. And when it’s really late and everyone is sleepy and tired, dad actually asks Dean to stay until tomorrow, offering the guest room.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to…” Write starts, but my father cuts him off. Wow, this really is a different man. Who are you and what have you done to my daddy?
“But I insist.” And with this sentence Write is obliged to stay. “Milly will show you everything, thank you for this wonderful evening, too sad that I’m too old to stay up for much longer. Good night.”
When he’s gone, we stand awkwardly in silence for a few moments. I clear my throat.
“Would you like to go to sleep now? Or can I get you anything else? Something to drink?”
“A glass of water would be nice.” He gives me the warmest look ever.
“Then please, follow me to the kitchen.” I say as I collect the dishes.
I feel myself tense with every passing second. While he is drinking his water, I start washing the dishes.
“Can I help?” He asks when I am on my second plate.
“You can dry them if you want.” He nods. I point at a towel hanging nearby. “You can use that towel over there.”
And so we stay silent for a few more moments, cleaning up in the kitchen. I don’t relax, on the contrary, I feel like I’m going to turn to stone completely at some point. It’s one thing being with him at work, but having him here? Seeing him like this? It’s just too much and I remember our weekend. It hurts.
“Millicent.” He says, voice soft and quiet. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this, I promised myself I wouldn’t, but we need to talk about what happened in New York.”
I freeze. I knew this would come, I felt it deep inside. All I want to do now is make myself as small as possible and vanish into thin air. Be anywhere but not here. I don’t want to have this conversation.
“No.” I take another bowl to wash.
“Millicent.” He starts again, putting a dried glass on the wet table.
“Don’t.” I have no other words, I feel numbness cover my mind. It feels nice, but I know it’s not good when this happens. I put the bowl back into the sink, turn off the water and dry my hands, taking the towel from Write. “Thank you for helping, I’ll finish this tomorrow, let me show you the guest room.”
I turn to the door, but Dean stops me by taking my hand. His hand feels hot against my cold skin.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, about New York.” His words feel like knives scraping at my back. “There was a moment…”
“A moment of weakness.” I interrupt him. “Nothing to be proud of.”
“I am sorry if I hurt you. I am sorry if I said or did something wrong. It wasn’t my intention.” He lets go of my hand. “Can’t we at least try to be friends?”
“I don’t know. I’m so confused, I… I just need time.” I squeeze my eyes shut and quickly open them again. “Give me at least that. Time.”
“I can do that.” He says. After a moment’s thought he continues. “But I want only one little favour in return.”
“What?” I ask a bit frightened.
“Can I hug you?” His voice is somehow fragile, as if he’ll break if I decline. “Please.”
I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep or the champagne, but without saying anything else I hug him myself. I breathe in deep and close my eyes. How can this feel so good? We stand like that for ages, but finally I break the embrace and lead him to his room.
I’ll remember this night forever.