educator

Ewa and her friend decided to go on holiday with a travel agency that had advertised offers at their school. They signed up and, after paying a certain amount, waited for the trip. After a few days, the girls were waiting at the meeting point for all the participants. A boy immediately caught Ola's eye. Ewa noticed a man, no older than 23, who was constantly talking to the trip organizers. He boarded the bus with them. When they arrived, two rather young men were waiting for them, and the third was the one who had boarded the bus with them. It turned out they were the teachers. Ewa and Ola ended up in the one from the bus. The teacher's name was Krzysiek and he was 20 years old. We got a double room with a bathroom, but... next to the teacher. They were in the middle of unpacking when someone gently knocked on their door. They shouted, "Come in!"

"Sorry, girls, but it's time for dinner..." he said, very shyly, before they went down to the cafeteria.

Ola had been hitting on this guy she'd liked since he'd arrived at the meeting. She'd already learned his name was Grzesiek. After dinner, Ewa went to take a shower. She hadn't heard Krzysiek arrive. She came out in just a towel and was speechless when she saw him. Not a single one of them said a word. Only Ola broke the tension:

"Ewka, get dressed or you'll be sick." Ewa immediately grabbed her pajamas and disappeared behind the bathroom door. When she came out, Krzysiek was still sitting on her bed as if nothing had happened. They talked for a while about planned trips and the next day. They didn't call him "sir," but simply "Krzysiek." He'd suggested it himself. He was only three years older, so he didn't feel so old, as he himself admitted. The next day at 8 a.m., someone knocked softly on the door. Ola answered. It was Krzysiek: "Wake-up call," he whispered.

"Ewa will never get up this early. Ewa never gets up this early," Ewa tried to explain. Krzysiek thought for a moment and said: "If you wake her up, tell her there's a surprise waiting for her if she gets up." He smiled mischievously and went to wake the others. Ola knew Krzysiek had caught Ewa's eye, so she tried to break the news to her. It wasn't easy, because Ewa was sleeping soundly, but eventually it dawned on her that there would be a surprise. Then she jumped up and was ready to leave within minutes. At breakfast, Krzysiek was staring at Ewa. Ewa pretended not to notice, but towards the end of the meal, Ola pointed out, "Look, Krzysiek is staring at you the whole time." After breakfast, they went shopping. They bought sweets and something to drink. In the afternoon, Krzysiek knocked on their door, and when Ola opened it, he said to Ewa, "A surprise awaits in the room next door." He didn't have to wait long for a reaction. She jumped out of bed and went to see what the surprise was. She'd forgotten that the room next door was the teacher's room, but when she remembered, it was too late.

"So? Did you find a surprise?" she heard Krzysiek's voice behind her.

"No, really," she tried to explain.

"Why didn't you tell me you liked me?" he asked, standing behind her.

Ewa turned, looked at him, and ran out of the room. She stormed into her own room and started screaming at Ola: "Why did you tell him that? You ruined everything!" It was clear she was very upset. Ola didn't know what was going on and finally asked: "Ewka, what are you talking about?" There was a question in her voice.

"What do you mean, what? You told Krzywek I liked him!" she practically screamed at Ola.

"I don't know anything and I didn't say anything..." her friend tried to explain.

Ewa ran out of the room. She sat down in a chair by the cafeteria and thought about what had happened. She didn't even realize she had fallen asleep. She was woken by someone's touch, very gentle, and whispers: Ewa...wake up...come to your room...it's late.... She opened her eyes and it was Krzysiek. He was kneeling beside her, trying to wake her up.

"I've been looking for you all over the facility...why did you run out like that?" he tried to ask gently.

"It was supposed to be different ..." she whispered.

"But what was it supposed to be?" he didn't understand.

"Ola wasn't supposed to say that..." she tried to explain.

"But Ola didn't tell me anything...I just wanted to check if my intuition was correct." He smiled.

He kissed her on the cheek and they left. The next day, immediately after breakfast, Krzysiek called Ewa to her room. She knocked nervously. After a few seconds, he opened the door for her. She sat down on the bed, unsure what to say.

"Since you didn't let me get a word in edgewise, I have to say it now." He spoke the words rather shyly. I've liked you... from day one... he almost began.

Ewa was so shocked she wanted to jump for joy. He kissed her both on the lips, and for quite a while. From then on, they spent their free time together. In the evenings, they either sat in Ewa's room or at his. They didn't show it "outwardly," but they were very much in love. And it wasn't just a "winter" love..

She

My brother Paweł once told me that when you're in love, it's like finding yourself in that unique moment between sleep and full awakening, where you're on the edge of reality, still remembering your dreams, yet aware of the world and the dawning day. He said you're constantly in that state. Of course, I didn't believe him, because three days later he broke up with his girlfriend Karolina. True to his words, I'd only find out if I fell in love myself. And of course, as with most things, Paweł was right in this one.

I'd never truly fallen in love before. I didn't really know what that meant. And I never met that special someone I could. There was Aga from fourth grade, who sat next to me at my desk and always lent me a ruler and compass, because from a young age, math had been my only subject. There was Gośka from sixth grade, who was in my English class, and one day she sent me a note across three desks with the words, "Would you be my lover?" written on it. As it turned out, after three weeks, she dumped me. One day during break, she approached me and said, "Sorry, you're not my type." Not only did I receive the note, but four others did too. Iza from middle school was my first real love, but it's worth noting that in middle school, you had to be with someone, otherwise you were lost. And you could also add that middle school was my "difficult period," as parents always gently point out. Iza and I dated for weeks, then broke up, until Ania appeared. It was a strange relationship, based more on silence than words, but it was the most serious of all. Because it was the beginning of change—you started looking at certain things differently. Our relationship ended completely after we got into different high schools.

High school. There, everything started to flow completely differently. More seriously. In middle school, there was a mix of people eager to learn and those who simply came to attend classes, though even that wasn't always the norm – it was just normal school life. Arriving at high school, I felt like I'd entered a higher level, a new era, more mature than the previous one. As always happens in schools, groups formed, and I belonged to perhaps the strangest of them. Four humanities students: me, a history buff and top student in Polish; Magda, the class poet; Filip and Ewa, natural linguists, authors of the most popular articles in our school newspaper. One madman, Tomek, a mathematical genius; Norbert, probably some relative of Hawkins; Grześ, a computer geek; and Ola, the future veterinarian from biology and chemistry. These were people I knew intimately, with whom I could do anything, because everyone was different. They understood my quirks, and I understood theirs.And everything was fine.

Right at the beginning of high school, I decided I would pursue law in college, and once I decided, I was destined to do so. It was surprising, even to me, these precise plans. And girls? There were, yes. Many, in fact. But She wasn't there. I wasn't openly seeking Her; only a part of me, the other side of me, was seeking Her, the other side of me barely noticed. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I didn't need Her at all; on the contrary, if She appeared, She would be a nuisance. She would destroy everything. And I was fine with it. Zero commitment, zero thought. There was school, friends, everything was planned and proper. Monotonous, even.

And that's when She entered my orderly life, where love had temporarily been devoid of any room, uninvited, unknocked, and unannounced. The events of that

last day of summer vacation were like being hit in the head with a brick or a bucket of cold water. Or a bolt from the blue that turns everything upside down.

It started like something out of an American movie—namely, with the elevator breaking down. I was returning

from the library with more books I was supposed to be studying in second grade, and I happened to be browsing through the already familiar Leśmian. I didn't pay her any attention downstairs because there were several people in the hallway: the postman, Mrs. Teresa, who was arguing with him as usual, Konrad and her cousin. Ala was also squirming around with her doll stroller. And Behemoth, her cat (Alicja's parents are teachers, just to clarify). Only the two of us got on the elevator—she and I. And only when she pressed my number seven did I look at her. She was rummaging through her backpack, ignoring me. I couldn't see her face clearly then, but there was something... I don't know, maybe in the way she brushed her hair back from her forehead, that made it impossible to look away.

Finally, I returned to my book. The elevator dragged on, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see her watching me. But every time I looked up, she'd look away, pretending to examine the chewing gum stickers plastered on the walls.

Before the sixth elevator, it lurched and stopped. The light flickered briefly, then came back on. Slowly, reluctantly, I looked up, glanced at the floor number, then at her. She stood as if paralyzed, staring at the ceiling with obvious terror. Then she looked at me, and I felt my knees weaken and my heart begin to pound.

She had the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. The truest green, like bottle glass.

I caught myself when I felt like I couldn't breathe—I'd completely forgotten

to breathe—the most terrifying thing was that something like this had never happened to me before.

"It's not worth it," I said as she reached for the emergency button. "It won't work anyway."

She looked at me fearfully.

"It's broken," I explained, trying to smile at her. "I think it's always been like that."

I pulled out my cell phone and called home.

"Are they expecting you, up there?" I asked her, taking advantage of the fact that no one had picked up yet.

"Me?" she asked, pressing herself against the wall. "I... I mean, yes.

" "The Slonimskis?"

She finally looked at me, a little confused.

"N-no. From 7c. I live there.

" I froze for a moment, not answering my mother's "Excuse me?" After a moment, I explained what had happened and asked her to call the housekeeping staff to do something about it. "

Go to 7c, Mom, to see the couple who just moved in. Their daughter is here with me. Tell them not to worry," I added finally. Then I put my phone away, took off my backpack, and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall.

"It'll take a while," I said. "At least twenty minutes."

She hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to me. I extended my hand.

"Kuba Biedrzycki.

" "Marta Bagińska."

She smiled, for the first time, truly. A sincere and genuine smile. And in her eyes twinkled those green sparks that I later came to know so well. They were like oxygen to me, like the water necessary for life, indispensable, and it was surprising that I had somehow managed without them before.

There were a few silent moments, the kind when you usually don't know what to say, searching for the right words. And then there were questions. About everything. And suddenly I felt as if I'd known her forever, as if she'd lived in 7c for years, my neighbor, the girl from the apartment next door. Suddenly I felt as if I'd expected her to move here, as if the fact that she would be attending my school, the biology and chemistry department, with Olka, was nothing new. As if I'd known this for ages.

The minutes flew by, slipping away to who knows where, and I wished the elevator would never move, that it wouldn't end. We told each other everything, completely unconsciously, without controlling it, unconcerned that we'd only known each other for a dozen or so minutes. I knew she wouldn't leave, that this wouldn't be the first or last time we'd seen each other. I was certain I'd see her every day, yet I wanted her to know everything I'd told her. Completely unconsciously, in those moments, we'd created a shared past—hers, which I knew, and mine, which she knew.

At some point, she noticed the book.

"Leśmian?" she picked it up. "Are you ahead of schedule?"

I smiled, looking at the cover.

"You could say that."

She opened it where I had stopped. She laughed softly.

"I like this poem," she said, quoting a moment later. "If I met you again for the first time, but in another orchard, in another forest—maybe the forest would rustle differently, elongated by mists across the vastness..."

"One of the saddest I've ever read. "

She rolled her eyes, smacking her lips impatiently.

"Another interpreter, just as others want. You read a poem and assume you understand the message. Have you tried looking at it from a different perspective?"

This time I laughed.

"There's no other point of view. He's lost hope, he's talking about something that could happen, but won't because it's too late. Like everyone, he'd like to change the past, turn back time to experience something again, better.

" "And why can't you imagine that all is not lost for him yet?" she asked. "That he's on that edge, hesitating before taking a step? What if he has hope, if he's addressing those words to someone from whom he wants a second chance? With whom he wants to start all over again?" "If I met you again for the first time..." Isn't he asking for another "first time" with these words?

"If he and she shared a past that crumbled because of one of them... Not everything can always be rebuilt, not everything can always be forgotten."

She looked into my eyes and smiled faintly.

"But there's always hope."

It hit me then. As we stared at each other, sitting in the broken elevator on the way to the seventh floor, arguing about the meaning of the poem. It hit me that my world had crumbled, turned upside down. It hit me that a part of me had been waiting for her all along. And finally, it did.

It hit me that I had simply fallen in love with her.

At this point in a normal story, there should be an ending, where everything ends well. But nothing was normal, even though I had fallen into that moment Paweł had talked so much about. The difference was that my dream wasn't good. At least not at first.

We saw each other every day. Practically constantly. She became one of us, or maybe she always had been, somewhere far away, and we were just waiting for her arrival. Evenings spent together, mine and hers, sitting by the windows chatting about everything, weren't unusual. Studying together, playing the same game of chess over and over again, never wanting to end. Wandering around the city, sitting on the same bench in the park, meeting us all at Doris's. Her knocking on the wall every time she wanted to know if I was asleep. But I stayed awake, waiting for her to finally do something, to give me that familiar sign. To finally reveal how she truly felt.

I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to tell her the truth, even though I'd had plenty of opportunities. Truthfully, I had no idea what to do in situations like this. You didn't tell her the same crap you told Iza, because the words weren't worth her. So I stayed silent, because I couldn't find the right words.

Sometimes it seemed to me that there were moments when she, too, seemed to want to say something to me and hesitated. She'd suddenly stop, realizing she was saying too much, and then all I really wanted was for her to finish. But she never did. And I didn't pursue the matter further.

Later, I regretted it so much. Because she'd met Marek.

"Listen, he's wonderful," she said, entering my room, telling me as she walked in the door. I wanted to slam it in her face. I turned back to my desk, pretending to look for a book. "Kind, intelligent, and so charming! Do you know what he did? Do you?

" I was dying to hear.

She didn't catch the sarcasm.

"He came to school today. He gave me a rose, Kuba, a rose!"

She was so happy, I couldn't stand it. I wanted to scream at her, ask her straight

to her face why she was doing this to me.

"I'd like to give him something too, especially since his birthday is in two weeks. What do you think I could get him? What do guys want, Kuba?

" "Why are you asking me?

" "Because you're one of them, that's obvious," she laughed. "Besides, you're my best friend, give me some advice."

It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice into my stomach. A friend. She treated me like... a friend.

Just a friend.

They told me something had happened to me, so suddenly. That I'd changed. They had no idea, of course, though I had reason to suspect they suspected. And had she changed? Weeks, months passed, and she was still with him, and I hated him more and more with each passing day. Something changed when she came over in the evenings and told me about him. Eventually, she realized I wasn't interested at all and stopped talking. Sometimes she would simply remain silent, and I would listen to that silence, which was far more pleasant than her stories.

Every time she mentioned him, I tried to act normal. I didn't want her to see how much it cost me to resist the urge to smash something, to yell at her for my stupidity. For being so hopelessly stupid, believing she'd understand one day, to realize she wasn't just a friend to me. That she never was and never would be. Yelling at me for ruining everything, for ruining everything forever if I just told her the truth. Because she wouldn't treat me like she used to. Nothing would be the same. I had a choice: either stay silent, continuing to delude myself that she'd feel the same way someday, or tell her the truth, risking that she'd either understand or leave and everything would be over.

Of course, I stayed silent.

And then, on that fateful Friday of the first week of third grade, she rang the doorbell, and when I opened it, I saw she was crying. I froze, certain something serious had happened. She stepped through the doorway and hugged me tightly, wrapping her arms around my waist. She sobbed, pressing her face into my shoulder, and I stood there, completely unsure of what to do in such a situation. The only time I'd ever seen my mother cry, though with happiness, not sadness, was when she found out she was pregnant with Nikola three years ago. And I'd seen Nikola herself in action, but a mere glance at her immediately brought her back to her senses.

But she... Quite instinctively, I hugged her, saying quietly,

"Marta, calm down. What happened?"

But she couldn't say anything. I led her into the room, sat her on the couch

, and crouched down in front of her, handing her tissues.

"What happened?" I repeated.

"I broke up with him," she finally managed. I froze.

"What?

" "I dumped him."

I didn't remember much of what she'd told me. There was something about some Justyna he'd been seeing for a while, that she'd bumped into them when they were together, that he'd said it was even a good thing they were breaking up because it all made no sense. She said this without looking at me, fingering the edges of her handkerchief. Something strange was happening to me. I stood up slowly, staring straight ahead, wondering only one thing. Finally, I realized there was silence, and she was looking at me. She lowered her gaze again.

"I know you never liked him..." she said quietly. "I know he turned out to be an idiot, but...

" "I'm glad you're not together anymore," I blurted out suddenly. I made up my mind in an instant, fully aware that I was the most selfish person in the world, that I only thought about myself. But I'd had enough.

She looked at me for a moment, then nodded and stood up to leave.

"I'm glad because I'll be able to tell you the truth without guilt," I added quickly. She looked at me in surprise.

"What truth?"

She left without a word, without even slamming the door. But I knew she was desperate to do so. She slammed hers. And from that slam, everything changed. The knocking from the other side of the wall stopped. The pieces on the chessboard froze, waiting in vain for the next move. There was no more studying together, no more aimless bus rides around the city. There was nothing left. As if we didn't know each other. She looked away whenever our eyes met by chance at school, avoided meeting. At some point, I had had enough, and the hope that one day she would come and smile at me, like she used to, that everything would go back to normal, vanished. At some point, I wanted it all to be over, that I would never recognize her again. For her to disappear forever.

So I was completely surprised when she appeared in the doorway to my room three weeks after that conversation. She didn't look at me. At least, she tried not to. She stood staring at the carpet, holding her books in her hands. I leaned back in my chair, silent.

"I brought..." she began. "I brought your books. The ones you lent me once...

True, I lent them to her. A few days after she started dating Marek."

She put them on the desk. She smiled sadly, wrinkling the sleeve of her sweater.

"I asked when I could give them back to you... You said I'd bring them to you myself someday." I didn't understand what you meant. I thought Broniewski's "The Last Poem" you marked had no connection. That it was a coincidence you marked it earlier. Now I understood what you meant. Unfortunately, too late...

I looked at her, breathing hard. But she wasn't looking at me. She moved toward the door. She paused there for a moment. Just a moment. And then she left. I heard her descending the stairs. The elevator was out of order again...

I sank into the chair. "Fool..." I whispered. I don't know how long I sat staring at my physics homework when I finally threw the notebook aside, resolving to drop by Norbert's the next day and copy it. Then my eyes fell on the books she'd returned. Broniewski... I'd indeed marked his poem so she'd guess. I knew nothing of the sort would happen, but I did. To feel better. Poems... Why is it sometimes that we only understand their meaning when someone gives you a clue?

I stood up, picked up the books, and put them back on the shelf. A note was tucked into one of the volumes. I hesitated, then opened it to the marked spot. A few seconds later, I was gone.

She was sitting on the park bench we usually occupied. She smiled as I approached.

"I thought you'd never open it," she said, looking at me, green sparks dancing in her eyes. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't know." However, this place was the first that came to my mind.

"Was Leśmian a good idea?" she asked, looking at me uncertainly. I sat down next to her.

"It depends.

" "On what?

" "Which interpretation do I consider correct?" I smiled. She fell silent for a moment. "Why only now? Why only after I told you the truth?" I asked.

Only after a moment did she answer.

"Because I wasn't sure before.

" "And now you are?"

She smiled slightly. I looked at her.

"I still think my interpretation was right," she said quietly.

"And I think you're right this time."

We looked at each other, and then... Then everything was as it is in normal stories.

The long-awaited meeting...

He looked in the mirror, or rather, stared at the man standing across from him. He analyzed his build, the shape of his head, the line of his neck, the length of his arms, the way he positioned his body, standing on one leg, the other slightly bent, the crooked foot 10 centimeters back from the other. He blinked, grinned briefly, then raised an eyebrow. He loved observing the human body, following its every movement, examining facial expressions, the fanciful movements of the shadows on the skin. The fact that he was looking at himself now wasn't due to vanity but to the fact that he was alone in the room. No one had visited him for hours, and he couldn't spare a single human being a searching glance. He always stored in his memory the individual expressions of those who came, their unconscious gestures and reflexes. He absorbed them. Perhaps because he was most often surrounded by bodies incapable of expressing anything through the language of movement.

He was responsible for preparing the deceased for their final journey, for laying them in the chapel so that family and friends could gaze upon the deceased one last time. Often, the corpses were in terrible condition. His job was to recreate the "client's" appearance from a photograph as it had been before death. What he accomplished was truly artistic. He created works of art from livid, swollen, and distorted semblances of their former self. After the procedures were completed, the person in a state of preliminary decomposition looked like a dormant specimen of health, freshly returned from vacation, rested and full of life. He was a wizard, a first-class magician.

He stood there, concentrating, his gaze fixed on the gentle undulations of his own hand. The creak of the door opening roused him from his lethargy. A funeral parlor attendant brought the body, covered with a white sheet, on a metal stretcher. He glanced at the bulging back as the man wordlessly turned and left. He knew he would have to stop what he was doing and begin working on the deceased.

He put on white gloves—the elastic rubber fit his long fingers perfectly, the fingers of a one-of-a-kind master. He applied a mask to his face, first smearing a strong eucalyptus-scented ointment under his nose. All this to prevent the human stench from unsettling him. He had become accustomed to the sight of corpses. At first, it was true that he was deeply affected by each new victim of brutality or the passage of time, but over time, he became inured to it and began to approach corpses as material, a substance from which he was to conjure something beautiful. However, this specific smell always made him nauseous, and he couldn't get used to it; he couldn't treat it as an ordinary, unobtrusive witness to work. This very smell brought to mind how disgusting a human being, despite its beautiful packaging, is from the inside. He alone knew the true stink of an organism at the highest level of evolution. Each one, pouring copious amounts of perfume from beautiful bouquets of flowers, is saturated within with an extremely unpleasant fragrance. He experienced this stench, the stronger the more cut wounds, especially to the abdomen, the victim had.

With a delicate movement, he removed the sheet, folded it into a neat square, and placed it on a small table. Only now did he look at the figure lying on the cool steel stretcher. It was her, the girl he admired, who captivated him with her beauty every time she walked her dog, and he secretly observed her angelic beauty and the delicate way she moved from behind the curtain of his apartment window. He didn't know her name, but he knew she was the most beautiful, the most fascinating woman he had ever seen. She always reminded him of something soft and airy as she walked so fluidly across the grass, as if floating a few centimeters above the ground. He adored her fluffy, golden hair, gleaming like an angelic halo in the warm rays of the sun. Twice, passing her in the shop doorway, he gazed into her green eyes. He was captivated by her gentle gaze and her smile, whose heat could melt Arctic glaciers.

He could admit to himself that he loved her. He loved this quintessence of beauty and subtlety, the embodiment of delicacy. She was his dream. He could only think of Arcadia when he imagined her. He felt that if he could extract black and white from the world, she would be that pristine white, the down of feathers, the softness of a small cat's fur, the airy thread of gossamer stretched between the branches of a tree. He loved this unknown mystery, a mystery that daily added not a drop but a whole jug of joy to the emerging day, a mystery that adorned the gray reality, a mystery that now lay before him, his closed eyelids concealing two mirrors of his most magnificent soul. He looked at her, and tears welled up in the bottom of his eyes, and there were more and more of them. In a caravan, they left the site of the uprising to fall on her skin, leaving salty trails on his face.

He didn't see her posthumous ugliness. To him, she was still beautiful, the most beautiful. Subconsciously, he recalled her face, remembered with photographic precision from the days when she'd walked her dog, gracing the world with her presence in the fresh air. He didn't see the strangulation marks on her neck, the scratches on her chest and arms, or the livid marks of rape on her thighs. He didn't see her face contorted in a sign of suffering, that calling card of pain.

Before his eyes, at last, lay the heroine of his dreams, the companion of his thoughts, the most essential ingredient of the air he breathed, the quencher of his thirst and hunger. The most magnificent work of God's hand lay before him, at arm's length. But he knew it would never again bear witness to its perfection, its goodness, that the last wisp of breath had already escaped her. The question rose to his lips: "Why her?" Why had fate allowed her eyes to close forever, why had it allowed her flame to be extinguished... why had God allowed it.

He grabbed her cold, numb hand, then pressed his entire torso against it. He hugged her close as if to give her all his warmth, all his energy, his life. He tore off his mask, pulled off his gloves. He wanted to feel her close, to experience her with his fingertips, masters of touch. He memorized every detail, every square millimeter of her face. He absorbed her physical presence with his senses. He cried, he cried deeply. His tears soaked his muse, his beloved. He nestled against her again, smoothing her golden hair, running his fingers through each strand.

He gently pulled her closer and lay down beside her. He kept looking at her face—saw it unchanged. Just as he always imagined her lying in his bed, covered in cool sheets, dreaming of her kissing him and saying "goodnight."

In that moment, as he lay cuddled up to her, he began to imagine again how happy he would be if she were his, if he woke up next to her every day. These thoughts, this "journey" into an imaginary world, calmed him so much that he fell asleep.

He slept there in a basement room, in a white coat, on a stretcher, nestled against the naked corpse of a raped girl, his face awash with happiness. He was happy to finally be sleeping next to the woman who ruled his thoughts, his dreams, his life..

Cheating Death" Part I

Apart from the treetops, where Isilar's pale light fell, darkness enveloped everything. It was the second day of the year, called Ball, in the third month of Gelift. The full moon heightened the fear of man; it was one of those nights on which no creature ventured forth alone. Despite this, a shadowy, hooded figure moved through the dark forest. It silently avoided protruding branches; from a distance, it seemed to hover a few centimeters above the ground, drifting through the forest floor, guided by a strange force. Isilar was behaving strangely that night; the spots on him formed a strange, mocking smile, the glow surrounding him on one side drawing a smaller circle, as if restrained by something. Ball's days were always marked by intense magical activity. This time, one could feel the stuffiness of the air, if such a thing even existed. In any case, it was not worth playing with illusions and other powers on this day.

The creature moved incredibly quickly, but it didn't swerve violently back and forth, and there was no trace of nervousness. In this case, the mysterious calm could have been unsettling. The figure suddenly stopped its drift, crouched, and pulled back its hood, revealing long, black strands of hair, revealing pointed ears. It was definitely not human, but its face was impossible to see, as it was still lowered and hidden in the darkness. He picked up a few leaves and immediately dropped them.

"Straight," he said in his mind, but in an unimaginable way, the echo responded several times, "Straight, straight, straight..." He ignored this paranormal phenomenon; he'd expected such an effect; it might even have been a delusion.

The rocky mound, previously hidden by the cloak of night, now revealed its vastness.

"There it is," he whispered, peering into a gap in the rubble.

He quietly squeezed through the opening and saw a crouched figure, probably searching for something. He lit his lantern, attached to his small backpack. The glow illuminated the room. The figure stood abruptly and looked him in the face.

"For the glory of Isilar, someone has finally found me, and I thought I would die of fright." He didn't know the man he'd encountered, but there was joy in his voice. "

I wasn't looking for you at all; you must have made a mistake, and so was I." He turned and turned to leave.

"Wait!" He stopped. "Can I come with you?" The question brought surprise to the hooded figure's face.

"No," he said firmly.

"Why?" – He looked at his black robe and face. He saw strange ears, and his skin was unusually pale. – Ah! Magos! And an elf too!

– So what?

– What? I've heard of you, you help others, after all.

– Then you heard wrong.

"And why is your face so pale?" he asked inquisitively. Only now, as the angle of the light changed, did he notice that his face was still strangely scratched. The skin on his hands was similar. "Don't you use any healing masks, herbs? Have you seen yourself in a mirror?" He looked slightly flustered.

"You miserable human, don't let too much interest you. Maybe I can be of some use after all." He uttered the last sentence in his mind. "Why are you hiding here?

" "I knew it!" He smiled as broadly as he could. "I knew I intrigued you a bit. I'm brave, aren't I?

" "I'd say rather stupid." The words were saturated with irony. "Tell me then.

" "Sure. Oh, I can't! No one will believe me that I met an elf magos." Despite all the pleasantries, the elf still kept his distance. He didn't know why, but he didn't trust him. He felt a slight falsehood. He covered his ears with his hair. "It was like this." At noon, Zala, I wanted to go to the inn to squander my worries in a strong beer…

"Get to the point!" He interrupted

. "Oh yes, yes! So I was scared of the woman.

" "That's what I thought.

" "Hey! But she wasn't an ordinary woman. I followed her because she was acting strangely, was she walking crouching, afraid or something? I thought she might lead me somewhere, I hid behind a tree, and suddenly... Bang! And she rolled out of nowhere, a beautiful girl like I'd never seen in my life. I said hello, I held out my hand, and she had two swords. One was two meters long, no matter what I said, probably three, the other a bit shorter." He waved his arms enthusiastically, gesticulating, and trying to recreate the whole event. "She put one to my neck and said. But what a beautiful voice that was…

" "You're annoying me, man.

" "I'll finish soon." And she says in her nymphal voice, "Don't follow me, I know he sent you... I have to kill you." I tried to explain that it was a mistake, but I already felt the cold steel of the sword on my throat and then on my legs. I ran so fast that I even caught a hare and hid here.

"What?" He pondered. He knew something wasn't true. He was sure she would have killed him after the sentence he'd heard her say. She was wrong, but she wouldn't spare such an idiot; it wasn't like her. Was he hiding something? I don't know, I won't press him, and he's already talked too much. Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know. "Where's the nearest village here? You'll take me there.

" "Yes, indeed. It's an honor for me to accompany such a person. But I don't think you're looking for her; I've never seen such a fighting woman before," he replied. "I don't want to meet her again."

"You guessed my thoughts.

" "What?! Then I'm not going." – He turned and sat down on a rock.

– It's not. – He walked away.

"Wait!" After a moment, he heard a familiar voice behind him and the sound of someone running. He should have expected this. "What? After all, I'm going with a magos, and an elf at that.

" "Not a word about it." She looked him in the face and pierced him with a menacing glare.

"Of course. Of course! You're human, after all, how could I have been fooled? Of course, a human like no other. But I guess you can't hide a magos, so do something about that face. I heard a mask made of jute is perfect for delicate skin.

" "And I heard you could get hit in the head right now. Go and don't say anything, unless you can't even do that.

" "Of course." I shut my mouth and say nothing. And how do you know that woman? Could it be about love?

" "Shut up!"

"Okay, if you don't want to talk, then don't. You're strange, you know, but you're a savior after all."

They disappeared behind a gray fog that appeared suddenly for unknown reasons and spread until it encompassed the entire area around the forest.

I would like some tea

I could use some tea, she thought, running her finger along the windowsill. She touched her forehead to the cool glass. The heat was unbearable. A girl, unsteady on her roller skates, glided along the sidewalk. She did a beautiful slalom between the flowering linden trees lining the street, then bumped into an old woman carrying oranges.

"Phew," Nora snorted contemptuously, brushing dark locks of hair out of her eyes.

A sparrow perched on the windowsill, chirping loudly. But she couldn't hear it, beyond the thick glass. Only the monotonous ticking of the clock reached her ears. "Tick, tick, tick, tick..." it repeated the same, boring, sometimes maddening chatter over and over.

The telephone rang in the hallway. Nora slid lazily down the windowsill. But before she could reach the old telephone resting on a single-legged oak table, the ringing stopped. This fact only made her more nervous. She angrily kicked the brass knob, which had been ripped off the cabinet by some careless householder and now lay helplessly on the fluffy carpet her grandfather had brought back from faraway Turkey long ago. On bright afternoons like this, she hated this large apartment, these furniture, smelling of antiquity, these mementos of her grandparents' lives, these windows overlooking dull, leafy streets. She was irritated by her quiet parents, always busy at work or reading their books, irritated by her ailing grandfather, always sequestered in his room on the ground floor, and by the foolish nurse who came to care for him. At such moments, she longed to bury her face in the thick fur of Amaretto—her beloved, enormous dog.

Nora remembered the tea she had been meaning to make, but she couldn't move. It was so hot... She glanced at the hated clock—the ornate hands were set at five o'clock.

"Tea time," flashed through her mind. The mere memory of the delicate cup with its tiny handle and the puff of steam rising from the sweetish liquid, with real tea leaves floating among the dried fruit, filled her with pleasure. With all her willpower, she managed to overcome the laziness that was taking over her—she got up and headed for the kitchen. Entering this incredibly spacious room, she didn't forget to bow to the African statue of some deity standing just beyond the threshold. As a child, she had always felt awe at the enormous, white eyes that stood out against the statue's black face. To gain its favor, whenever she entered the kitchen, she bowed her head before the mysterious deity. This habit remained with her to this day—though it was more a desire to honor a custom she had created—after all, once you have a custom, you have to maintain it.

Pulling a teapot from the herb-scented shelf, she spotted several bills in white envelopes. They didn't belong in this kitchen at all. They lacked imagination. She placed the kettle on the stove, careful not to burn herself on the hot plate. While waiting for the water to boil, she sat at the mahogany table, staring at the curtain hanging in the window. Individual ears of grain and tree branches were woven into it. A moment later, the kettle whistled through the kitchen. She climbed onto a chair, pulling a container of fruit tea from the shelf. A moment later, she was sitting in the honey-scented living room, scalding her lips with the golden beverage.

The clock struck six. The echo of the six notes continued throughout the apartment for a long moment. Nora thought she actually liked her solitude. She felt happy sitting completely alone between the white walls. She didn't need her mother, her father, her grandfather. She didn't need anyone. No one understood her. Who needed conversation? And so, in the end, she's left alone with her problems. No one wants to help her solve them. No one. Everyone thinks only of themselves. "Hush, Nora. You're a grown-up now. You should be able to take care of yourself. At your age, we solved our own problems. And now, hush. We want to work a little." She'd heard it so many times... One word began to pound through her heat-weary head. Alone... alone... alone! A salty tear rolled down her burning cheek. It stopped on her chin. After a brief moment of reflection, she decided to jump. She heroically bounced off. For a moment, she reveled in her freedom. She floated through the air. It was so beautiful... Finally, her dreams had come true... She was free, free, free! She looked down. Below her stretched a brown, shimmering abyss. The universe? So this was what space looked like... It was beautiful. The gateway to a new world... She couldn't wait to cross it. She sped up. She was getting closer... She smelled a sweet scent. Was this what happiness smelled like? The last millimeters separated her from entering a new universe, a new life... The droplet glanced around one last time before disappearing into the depths of the tea.

Nora looked at the swaying surface of the fruity drink. Perhaps the path chosen by the teardrop was indeed the right one...? She glanced at the hated clock, constantly striking its own rhythm. Tick, tick, tick... For a moment, she felt like following the tiny droplet's example. She wanted to be free from her life, from her problems... After all, no one loved her here... No one needed her... In this perfect world, there was no place for her... She didn't fit in.

She stood before the spacious wardrobe in her cold room. She smelled the distinct scent of wood. Suddenly, the open window slammed loudly. A child's cry echoed across the street. Nora decided to do a quick inventory of her clothes. What exactly would she need most if she decided to take the rash and irresponsible step of running away from home? Definitely some sturdy trousers, a warm sweatshirt, a jacket, and a few summer shirts. The wardrobe was full. There were a dozen or so long, elegant dresses, fashionable scarves, each a different color, perfectly matched to her stylish outfits, several dark skirts, white blouses, two sweaters, and a pair of winter trousers. In the corner of the wardrobe lay her favorite fox. Nothing would fit… She looked in despair in the mirror.

Suddenly, voices echoed in the hallway. It was her family's return. Once again, she was forced to see the tired, dull, sad faces of her parents and grandfather, motionless in his stroller… She closed the wardrobe.

What a life…

Between her parents' legs lay a dog, forgotten by everyone. Forgotten, like me, she thought.

"Amaretto!" she cried, running into the hallway and hugging the dog. He gratefully licked her cheek. For him, and only for him, she had discarded her crazy ideas of sleeping at the station. She would stay here. She would endure. She felt the dog's wet tongue again. She hugged him tighter, tears streaming down her face. She would stay…

There

The door to the dark room closed behind her. The blackness of the room overwhelmed her, for she hadn't known it was possible to be so blind. No finger of light left even the faintest trace of a fingerprint on any of the walls. Cautiously, she stretched out her hand, searching for something... but she didn't know what. She began to walk, as uncertainly as a small child taking its first steps. She searched for firm footing with her bare feet, probing the ground with her fingers before shifting her full weight onto her leg... She managed three steps, though not decisive, when suddenly something, some imaginary powerful hands, pushed her with great force... she fell... she felt fear and, for unseen reasons, humiliation... the kind of feeling when someone slaps her for no reason. She couldn't explain what she was experiencing, as if her emotions were unfolding outside of her... without her participation... drops flowed from her eyes... she gathered them with one finger and pressed them to her lips, moistening her dry lips... she realized its strange taste... yes, this is what blood tastes like... how many times, while sewing, she pricked her finger, greedily drinking drops of the crimson fluid of life from the wound, but where was the blood in her eyes? She froze, searching for some explanation, but found nothing... something told her to get up and pushed her gently... cold... an immense cold began to tear at her skin... but the sensory experience lasted only three seconds... suddenly, she felt cold somewhere deep within her... in her mind... in her soul... claws of frost were tearing her apart from within... her existence, not her body, which was merely a host. She couldn't scream, although the pain originating outside her nervous system was gripping her Self... she grabbed her head, pressing her temples with her hands... she chose this area at random, because she didn't know where this piercing pain was coming from... she dug her nails into her skin until it bled... her face contorted in a silent moan of despair... when suddenly everything she was experiencing internally disappeared... as if with a snap of the fingers... a moment... a microsecond and it was gone... and just a moment ago there was suffering... suffering that in a hierarchy can be placed above everything a human can touch and understand... and now - nothing... a barren state of mind... and despite the zero baggage of thoughts and sensations... a feeling of heaviness surrounding her with an external membrane... the weight of "nothing" rested on her shoulders... an invisible cross of indifference was crushing her... increasing its mass with each passing second... she fell to her knees... but this baggage of emptiness was pressing her closer and closer to the ground... she heard in some gibberish in her head... the sounds of many words spoken at once, louder and louder... screams... all the inarticulate human screams... the screams of the crowd... and suddenly one sentence in a whisper... a sentence with the smell of death... the sentence: "to feel means to suffer, not to feel means not to be..."... and again silence... and again incomprehensible darkness... and again disorientation... She lay on the ground and felt herself... the beating of her heart... those everyday, her own,explained... she lay and waited... waited for another onslaught of darkness... nothing came... She decided to get up and find a way out... a place where she would feel completely safe. However, she couldn't straighten up completely because suddenly the ceiling lowered enough that she could only move on her knees and supported by her hands... cautiously, she began to move... she came across something that seemed to be a wall. Now she was holding on to it... she had been crawling on all fours for several hours... when at a certain point she was blinded by flashes every five seconds... a flash?... a camera?... photos?... no... fire... some letters... a burning inscription... disappearing too quickly to read... yet attracting maximum attention because it appeared so close, right under the eyelid, as if on the cornea... and strangely compelling to read... a flash... and... motionless, melted into the flames, words pulsating with red: "we love to hate, we hate to love"... and peace... and a question hanging somewhere in the air, meaningless... simply "?"... she leaned against the wall... but she knew that if she didn't move any longer, she would fall asleep from exhaustion, so she continued along the wall.

The next few hours passed, she moved slowly, thirsty, hungry and terrified, and she realized that the wall she was walking next to had many twists and turns... it was a labyrinth... she would never get out of here... she would never get out of here, no one would help her... panic... no... peace... but panic... she would die here... - no, she would get out... a battle of thoughts in her consciousness... a moment of resignation when... her hand touched a cold object in the wall... a doorknob!!! Rescue!!!... hope... she pressed the handle and pushed the door open... sharp knives of light pierced her eyes, accustomed to the dark... with a quick movement she pushed the small door even further and, with her eyelids closed against the brightness, crawled out of the dark prison... and... began to fall down... The flight didn't last long... she landed on a soft surface... with her hand she felt that she was lying on something like yarn... warm yarn... she slowly began to open her eyes. From behind her squinted eyelids, an image of brightness fell into her eyes and painted on the retina... after a few moments she opened them completely. What is it? Everything around is white... where is it? She started looking around and noticed a large flesh-colored structure on her right... on it... wait a minute... hair... black hair... she began to examine it... neck... scar... outline of a jaw... everything gigantic... and with the speed of light the answer arrived... sitting on someone's enormous shoulder... she looked up... Between the combed hair a small, round, open door...

A short history

The medium-sized pub was located in the lower part of town.

Its atmosphere and décor quickly attracted a group of regulars, who, to the owner's delight, drank copious amounts of beer and other liquors.

A sound investment, it yielded good profits.

That evening, the space would likely fill up again quickly.

The first potential customers appeared on the horizon.

Three young girls were just approaching the building housing this nicely decorated "hangout" for young people.

A neon sign reading "Secret Pub" glowed overhead, which was perhaps a bit out of fashion these days. Nevertheless, this was the only pub in the city with a neon sign, and it looked old but elegant.

The room itself was decorated rather somberly, but that only gave the pub a unique atmosphere that attracted young people from all over the city.

There was something mysterious about it, and the name "Secret Pub" perfectly suited it.

The last of the girls closed the door, leaving behind the now rather strong wind.

The inevitable autumn was approaching, and it was probably one of the last relatively warm evenings.

The young women headed towards the winding staircase that led to the proper room.

It was Saturday, and Natalia, Karolina, and Sara were to spend the evening at the pub with three of their classmates.

"Oh, Marcin's here," Karolina noticed, emerging from the upstairs room.

Two blondes and a brunette moved toward the table where a young boy sat, playing with a beer mug coaster.

After a moment, he felt like he was being watched, but before he looked up, the three girls were almost there.

"Hey, Marcin," Karolina began. "Sebastian and Bartek will probably be late again," she said, sliding neatly behind the table.

Settling herself comfortably in the middle, she placed her purse next to her.

She seemed very confident, yet still natural.

Natalia entered the table right behind Karolina and sat down next to her, shrugging off her denim jacket.

Sara, meanwhile, walked around the other side of the booth, passing Marcin, who was sitting in a chair opposite the girls, and sat down to Karolina's right.

Her unusually lively eyes met Marcin's as she sat down.

"Hi Marcin," she said as naturally as possible.

"Hi," he replied, "well, Sebastian and Bartek will probably be late again.

" "What?" Sara asked

. "Nothing, I just agree with Karolina," he said in a slightly embarrassed voice, as if he were trying to explain away some awkward situation.

However, this situation wasn't awkward at all.

"She was saying a moment ago that Sebastian and Bartek would probably be late, as is their style," he continued.

"Oh, yes," she replied, her voice trailing off for a moment. "Well, you're probably both right," she said fleetingly, then turned her attention to Natalia.

"What are we ordering?

" "Juice for me, because then Sebastian will probably convince me to buy a beer," she replied, taking her cell phone out of her pocket.

"I'll text him that we're already mad at them and that they have five minutes to be here, that always works," she added cheerfully.

"And you, Marcin, are you taking anything?" Karolina asked suddenly.

"Uh, yes," the boy blurted out after a moment. The girl had clearly snapped him out of his reverie. "I was just about to go get a beer, so I can get you some too?"

"Hmm, okay, then get a small one for me—and what do you want?" she asked Sara.

"I don't know, I'll wait for the guys, maybe I'll try a beer later. "

Natalia got up from the table.

"I'm coming with you—I'll maybe grab some chips."

Marcin and Natalia headed down a narrow passage and disappeared behind the wall.

When they returned carrying mugs and juice, surprisingly, Sebastian and Bartek were already seated at the table.

"And that's how the cookie crumbles," Sebastian finished in a lively voice, while Sara and Karolina burst into uproarious laughter.

"Oh, I see you're almost on time for once," Natalia remarked as she reached the table.

Marcin set down the mugs and offered hands to Sebastian and Bartek, respectively.

Sitting down, he glanced at Sara.

She was rather petite.

She had a very gentle and girlish face.

Beautiful eyes, set against innocent features, and light, incredibly straight hair that fell just past her shoulders, made her an attractive and alluring young woman.

"You really rocked it in geography today," Bartek said cheerfully, looking at Marcin.

"Well, the old lady had to throw a sponge at you after all," Sebastian resumed lively.

"And how did you jump up in the air?" Bartek tried to say, but his increasingly intense laughter prevented him from doing so.

"I heard Iza and Gośka laughing about it later during the break," Karolina added, also cheerfully.

"Oh, I was just lost in thought. It can happen to anyone," the boy explained, taking a calm sip of beer.

Sebastian noticed the gesture and perked up a bit

. "Bartek, how much today?" "Two. Three?

" "Order the first one and then I'll get the second one," he intoned, pausing, giving him time to consider his next line of thought. "We'll see about the third one.

" "Okay."

The boy rose from his seat.

"And for you, Natalie, I take it you want a beer too?" He turned his penetrating gaze on Natalie and waited for an answer.

Although his gaze was questioning and a little uncertain, he was actually confident he could persuade her.

The girl couldn't hold his gaze and gave in, as she always did with the rest.

"But what am I supposed to do with this juice now?" she replied, frowning.

Sebastian glanced around the table sharply

. "Give it to Sara."

Sara perked up at the sound of her name and met Natalia's gaze.

After a moment, she noticed that Sebastian was also fixing his piercing gaze on her.

"Okay, I can drink it," she relented.

Sebastian's eyes sparkled even brighter, and he moved smugly toward the bar.

They were seventeen, and Sebastian usually bought the beer because, for a seventeen-year-old, he already had quite a mature face.

They had only recently started drinking beer. It's clear that only a few individuals from the entire school will keep their sobriety certificate until they reach adulthood.

Most young people will try drinking beer a little earlier, which is a fairly natural reaction at that age.

Time passed, and the pub filled with more and more people.

They sat, drank, talked, joked, laughed.

Everyone did the same thing.

They tried to spend time together somehow.

"What do you think, that she looks so natural?" Karolina asked.

However, without waiting for Bartek's answer, she began to express her own opinion

. "Believe me, if you met your divine model on the street, you would barely recognize her. They take those photos under the right lighting, with the right makeup, and then edit them with computers, giving her skin the perfect color and appearance." "Such photos are deceptive," Karolina continued.

"A great expert has spoken," Bartek reprimanded her gently in a tone that Karolina wouldn't take seriously.

"Just so you know," Karolina replied, "I know something about it."

"Yes?" the boy asked, curious.

"Yes," the girl replied innocently, smiling and sticking out her tongue slightly.

"In the future, I want to become a makeup artist and open my own salon.

" "Oh, that's interesting," Bartek said after a moment, leaning forward a bit.

"Haha, you see, you didn't know this about me yet – a year after I graduate, I'm going to be a makeup artist.

" "Does that mean I can get my makeup done for free?" Sebastian suddenly asked

. All six of them burst out laughing.

"You know what I'm talking about," Karolina said with a laugh. "If you want, I can do your makeup now," she added teasingly and cheerfully.

"No, you know... maybe I'll wait until you finish school," Sebastian said in retaliation.

"And you, smartass, what do you want to do after you graduate?"

Karolina suddenly asked Sebastian.

"Oh no. It's starting..." – a serious conversation about your future life, career, and so on and so forth..." Sebastian groaned

. "No, but I'm also curious," Natalia said. "Do you know roughly what you'd like to study after high school?

" "The high school graduation is in a year and a half, so there's still a lot of time until then, and for now, I'm only seventeen and I try to live in the moment, usually not thinking about what I'll be doing in six months or a year," he replied concisely and with the seriousness Natalia had previously established.

"What's right is right," Bartek replied, taking a sip of beer

. "And you, smartass, do you know what you'll be doing?" Sebastian asked.

"Of course," Natalia replied. "I'll be a journalist for one of the most widely read newspapers.

I don't know yet, which one I haven't formed a precise opinion about Polish newspapers and magazines yet."

There was a moment of silence

. "Goddamn, people, have you all already made up plans!?" "What's wrong with you? We don't even have proof yet," Sebastian demanded, his gaze darting around his friends.

"Bartek!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Tell me you're not thinking about all this yet.

" "Of course not," Bartek replied.

"Thank God, you're always on my side

." "I decided on this a long time ago, when I was probably 14, and now I don't have to think about it any further. The whole plan is hiding somewhere in the back of my mind," he tapped his head, "waiting for

the right moment to start putting it into action. But for now, you're right, we're seventeen, and I don't have to worry about anything just yet," he finished, adjusting his position at the table a bit.

"WHAT!!?" was all Sebastian managed to say. Surprise had clearly left him speechless.

"And what kind of plan is this anyway?" "Will you tell us?" Sara asked curiously.

"Oh, you know I've been interested in architecture for a long time.

" "Oh yes," said Karolina. "I remember you used to draw a thousand strange designs a week and talk nonsense about the architecture of our city during homeroom.

" "Does that still excite you?" the girl asked.

"All the time." "As long as I can remember. My dad introduced me to it a long time ago, and I know that this is what I want to do in the future. But for now, I still have plenty of time for the future.

" "And you, Sara, what would you like to do?" asked Natalia

. "Or no, don't tell!" the girl added quickly. "I'm your best friend, I definitely know, I just need to think about it for a while."

"When you were little, you wanted to be a doctor, and now, if I'm not mistaken, you've been thinking more specifically about studying pharmacy," Natalia said after a moment, pleased with herself.

"Exactly," Sara smiled.

She was pleased that her friend remembered the things she sometimes told her.

"Great." "Well, we already have a journalist, an architect, a pharmacist, and a makeup artist on board. You have ambitious plans and dreams, I must admit. "

At that moment, he turned his head sharply toward Marcin, who hadn't said a word during this discussion.

Until then, he had been sitting quietly and listening to his friends. Although perhaps he was thinking about something again, because he had a slightly strange expression on his face.

"And you, Marcin, what do you want to be?" Sebastian asked. "Probably a lawyer or a physicist working for NASA," he added, his tone a bit teasing, perhaps stemming from the fact that it turned out all his friends had their passions and plans for the future, while for now he was thinking about nothing and living from day to day.

"Me?" – asked the boy, as if Sebastian's question had suddenly jolted him from some distant land. He looked around at his friends with a confused look.

Everyone, now curious about his statement, was staring at him as if at a picture.

– I love Sarah…