My mother was worried and wanted to know what I would do and what I was thinking. I replied to her, "I don't want to go there, and I have no intention to." My mother asked me not to do anything foolish and not to make hasty decisions. She suggested talking to the military office and finding out what they wanted.

Given the current situation, their intentions were clear to me. I understood that it was better not to share my thoughts and possible actions with her to avoid causing her unnecessary worry. I had already made my decision, and I had no intention of changing it.

I needed to leave immediately, and the sooner, the better. The fewer people who knew about my departure from the country, the safer it would be.

I called my workplace and briefly explained the entire situation to my manager, informing them that I wouldn't be coming in today or in the near future. They understood completely and wished me good luck, for which I am grateful.

Next, I called my father, hoping that at least once in my life, he would do something significant and help me with my journey to the Kazakhstan border. Unfortunately, I was naive in those thoughts. The only thing I heard was, "Don't be foolish, there's no need to go anywhere, call the military office, and everything will be resolved."

I realized that I would never receive any help or support from this person. Just like in the past, he had never taken any part in my life, and he had no intention of doing so now.

As I packed my things, I simultaneously searched for a car to the nearest border. I chose Saratov and then onwards to the Kazakhstan border. I found a car through BlaBlaCar at three o'clock in the afternoon, leaving me with only four hours available.

I went through the items I had gathered earlier once again. Reducing them to two backpacks, this time I only took the essentials and warm clothing.

At one o'clock, I called a taxi to arrive early at the departure point. After getting into the taxi, I contacted the BlaBlaCar driver to find out the exact address and departure time. The response to my question shocked me: "We have already left and are speeding along the MKAD." Sitting in a taxi heading to a different address, I tried to negotiate with them to wait for me somewhere. For a modest extra fee of 200 rubles, we agreed to meet at the Kashirskaya metro station at two o'clock in the afternoon.

Changing the address from one point to another naturally altered the taxi fare, and it was pointless to change cars when there was simply no time. The taxi driver turned out to be excellent. Somehow, we managed to reach the designated spot in less than an hour from the other side of the city. I called the BlaBlaCar driver, and he said he was approaching. We agreed on a more specific location for me to wait.

The driver arrived in a brand-new Toyota. I introduced myself to Dima, whose character and initial manner of communication were quite unpleasant, which increased my caution and mistrust towards him. He appeared to be no younger than 40. Dima turned out not to be alone but with a colleague, with whom they worked as long-haul truckers. His colleague's name was Artem, a young, short, and slim guy in his twenties. He had returned from mandatory military service a couple of months ago. He was extremely quiet and reserved.

Artem went to the store to buy cigarettes for the journey, while Dima and I stood outside the car, getting to know each other better, so to speak. He asked why I was going to Saratov, a question I had to lie about, which I really dislike doing, but I had no other choice since I didn't trust Dima. Without much thought, I answered his question, "I'm going to my girlfriend's relatives for the weekend."