Cykle

He was woken by the fourth phone call this "morning." He hadn't answered it, why would he? He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch: 1:15 p.m. "That's fifteen minutes shorter than yesterday, good result," he thought. He didn't like jumping out of bed in a panic, so he lay still and stared at the ceiling. What day was it today...? December—yes, the 17th—yes, Wednesday—yes. I missed the civil law exercises—well, I'd only been to one this semester anyway, the Roman law lecture—optional, the criminology seminar—interesting, but oh well. I still have sociology in an hour, hmm, maybe I could go, but why rush? No. December 17th, a nice date, so it's been 198 days since... suddenly he felt a huge weight settle on his chest, he couldn't breathe, it was stuffy, his stomach tightened, his head was spinning. The pain becomes unbearable...it's been 198 days since that day. It was also Wednesday, when his spring ended. With the sunset of that day, he lost everything. All the meaning of life vanished, all his inexhaustible energy, self-confidence, hope for tomorrow. That day, his humor, his spirit, vanished forever. That day, she died. Beata—his spark and the support of his life. Beata—his meaning and other half... He breathed again, but the pain didn't go away; he felt like vomiting. Why, did this happen? Why her? Why had fate taken everything from him? Why had his "spring" ended like this? So suddenly? Why hadn't he had time to say goodbye to her? Why had he known her for such a short time, only six months? Maybe if he had gotten to know her better, she wouldn't have been so wonderful and they would have drifted apart, leaving him with the feeling of losing someone he loved, the most precious and wonderful person on Earth. Why?? What remained of her? Memories, a pile of worn letters, a clay figurine, and a few photos of them together, emptiness, bitterness, regret, hopelessness, and insomnia. Where are you? What should I do next? Where should I go? The pain slowly subsides, my hearing returns. Someone knocks on the door—never mind. I have to get up. He goes to the kitchen, opens the fridge. Empty. One piece of cheese remains. He sits down and begins to eat—she ate those cheeses too, where are you, Beata? He looks blankly at his watch—it's 2:20 p.m. He's supposed to be at work in an hour and a half. Maybe he shouldn't go. I don't have to go. How will I live? I'd better go wash up. No, why wash up? Why do anything?

Mateusz completed a few more tasks that day and decided to go to work. However, the pain wouldn't leave him, not even for a moment. Sometimes he'd forget about her, but then, after a moment of forgetfulness, he'd start to feel guilty about how he could forget her, and the thoughts would return with a vengeance. He was in a terrible state. He hadn't been able to recover for almost seven months. No one, no matter what, could help him. He was depressed, he didn't smile, and there was constant suffering in his eyes. When his mother tried to help him a few months ago, he had argued with her and cut off all contact with his loved ones. Then there was a slight improvement; he found a job in a warehouse. He worked from 4 to 10 p.m. every day. He slowly began to recover. It didn't take long. He quickly returned to his previous state. He stopped attending classes altogether, and at work, his manager wouldn't fire him out of sentimentality. And everything went on as before. He returned to the depths of suffering, emptiness, and loneliness. He had no friends, and after the loss of Beata, he had severed all contact. He couldn't count on anyone, he barely spoke to anyone. He was dead, he vegetated. Every day was identical, only the weather and the news changed. He completely neglected himself, often walking around dirty, and rarely washed. He was slowly becoming a corpse. Nothing seemed to change his condition, especially as winter began to set in.

Finally, the bus arrived. It was route 115. He got on and sat in "his seat." Whenever there was an empty seat, he took it. He liked sitting in that seat with her. He also loved teasing her about which door to use on the bus; he always wanted the middle door, and she the back. The bus moved on. It passed familiar streets one by one. Houses and sidewalks were already covered in snow. Christmas decorations were starting to appear on the shops. People walked the streets, excited by the holiday rush. Mateusz couldn't feel it at all. A few months ago, he had decided he would never celebrate any holidays again. The door creaked. He got off at the stop in front of the warehouses. And slowly walked away into the gray light of the winter afternoon

It was Christmas Eve, 4 p.m. Weronika was returning home from a friend's house. She smiled to herself. A wonderful day was slowly drawing to a close. And the holidays were still ahead, and today was Christmas Eve. She was silently singing to herself an old Christmas song, the kind preschoolers sing. She loved the holidays, loved people, loved life and the whole world. Every day, not just on holidays, she thanked fate for who she was and where she was. She was very joyful and dynamic. She never wasted time and knew the value of every passing second. She sat with her back to the bus, looking at shop windows. She was very happy. On bus rides, she often played a guessing game. She had invented it a long time ago and still enjoyed playing it. It involved observing people and wondering what they were doing, who they were, where they were going, if they were happy, why they were sad, etc. Often, her fun ended unexpectedly. Once, during her first year of college, she became so lost in thought and fixated on a guy that he started stalking her. He turned out to be a pervert. Fortunately, everything ended well, and today Weronika just laughs at the memory of this story. She started having fun. Hmm. A woman in a red beret. Young, 25-28 years old. She doesn't look like a student; she has vegetables and soups in her bag for the kids. Bingo! It's a young mother, returning from work to her beloved son, who is currently being cared for by his grandmother. How sweet. The next victim. An elderly bald man. Oh, he's very sad, in a worn-out jacket. He's definitely short on Christmas presents, and he'd like to buy something for his teenage, picky daughter. That's how it's going to be. Weronika smiles to herself. The door creaks open. Weronika thought, the first person to enter is my victim. Suddenly, the smile vanished from Weronika's face, and her eyes widened. In her 23 years of life, she had never seen anything like it. This young man was seething with suffering, his eyes screaming. His face was incredibly sad, picturing misery, suffering, emptiness, and fear. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She had seen people suffer, but never like this. She began to feel pity and shame that she was so happy. In an instant, her desire to play vanished. She tore her gaze away and looked out at the street. She couldn't stop thinking about him. What could have happened to this man? What could have caused this state? She looked at him more closely. He was already sitting in the seat. He was tall, handsome, maybe 25, and wore nice clothes, though not exactly clean. He had short dark hair and an unkempt beard. And that incredibly sad expression. She couldn't look at him. He radiated such sadness that with each passing minute, it began to spread to her. She decided not to look at him. Just two more stops, one more, and she'd get off. Unable to bear it, she looked at him one last time as she got off, and for a moment it seemed to her that she knew him. She got out and ran briskly home.

She was falling asleep. She was in a great mood again. Christmas Eve had been wonderful. And those dumplings in soup were delicious. She thought for a moment longer, but her brain was already stopping. She began to drift off, lost her hearing, and felt herself drifting off. She saw him sitting in room 115. He looked sad and said, "Weronika, help me." A flash, a crack. She saw the same boy in the corridor of the Law Faculty, smiling, cheerful. He stood in the center, surrounded by a group of third-year students. Everyone looked at him adoringly. He was telling an interesting story. She also saw herself in her first year, passing by that laughing group. And he was on the bus again, but again very sad, saying, "Weronika, help me, save me."

Later in the holiday season, Weronika wasn't in such a great mood. She couldn't forget that man. She already knew he was studying at the same faculty as her and should be in his fifth year. That sad face kept appearing. She was alternately cheerful, but whenever she remembered that bus or that dream, she became strangely gloomy. She drifted off. This state began to torment her terribly. She decided to find him and help him. When she set herself this task, this new goal, she immediately felt better and began smiling more often.

Right after the holidays, she took action. After a few days of searching, she finally met someone from her fifth year. She knew this girl only by sight, but she immediately bombarded her with questions. The frightened woman couldn't speak loudly enough. Weronika slowed down when she noticed that the woman was acting strangely and was dressed strangely. Only then did she notice that she was holding a bucket and a rag. She stopped dead in her tracks, thinking that something strange must be going on here, since students were carrying buckets and rags. The woman apologized and left. At that moment, Weronika realized she'd been talking to the cleaning lady, but she was so excited that she mistook her for someone similar, who was actually a fifth-year student.

Days passed. Weronika had no idea that fifth-year students were so rarely at university. Finally, however, she met a boy who was definitely a student. This time, she was more cautious and calm, and started talking to him.

"Hi, I'm Weronika. Are you a fifth-year student?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm Kamil, what's up?" Kamil asked with interest in his voice.

"I'm looking for someone who studies or has studied with you.

" "Okay, who are you talking about? Maybe me, honey?" He smiled and added a clear sign to his statement.

Weronika was used to this type of behavior. She was shapely, well-groomed, had huge blue eyes, a sweet smile, and everything was adorned with masses of curly blonde hair; she was simply beautiful. However, at that moment, she didn't feel like listening to such sweet nothings. And if it weren't for the fact that Kamil was needed by her, she would have treated him to a bouquet the likes of which he'd never heard from any girl before.

"I'm looking for a certain boy, tall with dark hair. Handsome.

" "And I'm not enough for you." He winked again and smiled

. Weronika was patient.

"I met him once on the bus, line 115, he left something, I want to give it to him. I remember him studying with you. He's so cheerful.

" "Since he was on bus 115, why don't you try riding it? Maybe you'll meet him again?"

Weronika wondered why she hadn't thought of it before, but continued.

"So, do you know him or not?"

"You know, I'd need more information. There are almost 200 of us in this year, and at least 50 of us are dark and handsome.

" "I don't know anything more.

" "Or maybe some distinguishing marks." Kamil's tone changed slightly as he sensed Weronika's determination.

"When... when I saw him, he was very sad," she said, and at the same time, she saw that sad look in his eyes.

"Okay, you know what, I can see you care. I'll try to find out something, I even have a few favorites, but I need some time.

" "Okay. Here's my phone number. Call me if you find out anything," she handed him a small slip of paper with the number.

"Okay, I'll definitely call you." She smiled and left.

For the next week, Weronika drove the 115 every day at different times without seeing him. Her phone also remained silent. This man was slowly becoming her obsession. She stopped studying and failed several tests. Days passed, until Kamil finally called. During their 30-minute conversation, he repeatedly suggested they meet for a beer, but she was only interested in one thing: who this guy was. She learned his name was Mateusz. He was no longer studying with them. He was a really great guy, the life of the party, but something happened to him last year. He simply burned out, stopped going to classes, and when he was, he wouldn't speak to anyone. He was very sad. They started calling him a freak. No one knows what happened to him. He flunked out of his fourth year. And he was seen repeating it a few more times. A few months ago, someone met him and, surprisingly, talked to him. That's when they learned he worked in the warehouses at the 115 final. He also got his phone number. Kamil admitted he didn't know if the number was still active and warned Weronika to be careful, as he believed Mateusz was simply mentally ill. She thanked Weronika. She was impressed by the information she'd received. She didn't believe Mateusz could be ill, but it confirmed her belief that he needed help and that she was the one who had to help him. She was very curious about what had happened to him, what had caused this change in mood. She couldn't wait to talk to Mateusz, so she dialed the number, and nothing happened. She had heard the "not picked up" ring a hundred times that week; she had called at various times, but no one answered. Finally, on the seventh day since her conversation with Kamil, she resignedly dialed the number she already knew by heart. It was 11 p.m. One ring, two, three, four... "Hello? "

a male voice answered.

Mateusz walked home from work. It was Saturday, and the 115 was no longer running. It was his last day at the job. He knew they'd get rid of him with the new year, because who needs an employee like that? He didn't want to go back to that cluttered apartment. It was terribly dirty. He walked slowly, looking around at the ground. As always, he thought of Beata, recalling the day they'd spent together in the mountains. He remembered the first time she'd told him she loved him, and he remembered how happy he'd been then. He'd been at the zenith of happiness then, and now there was only this pain. Why? He remembered every second spent with her, replaying every minute in his mind a million times, remembering every word. He remembered the smells and tastes, but they were now just a painful memory. He began to wonder how he would live now, how he would pay the bills, what he would eat. He walked without looking where he was going. He looked around and realized he was near the cemetery. A cold sweat broke out on him. Beata lies there. He'd last been here seven months ago for her funeral. No, he wouldn't go in. Yet something had guided him to the very gate, which was already closed at this hour. He thought for a moment, climbed the fence, and found the place where Beata lay. Even though he'd only been here once, he easily found the grave. He often dreamed of her funeral. He timidly approached the grave. It was cold, terribly dark, with only a few candles burning here and there, casting small glows in the night mist. It was eerily quiet. The weathered graves were covered with a delicate, wet snow. The metal doors of some old, neglected catacomb creaked. A gust of wind extinguished a few candles. Mateusz didn't feel even a flicker of fear. He stood by the grave and read the inscriptions. Beata Nowak, 22 years old, died a tragic death. For the first time since her death, he began to remember that day precisely. It was June, a warm evening. They were returning from the Vistula River. He was walking her home. Suddenly, he saw a bus approaching, quickly said goodbye to her, and ran to join it. She still had a dozen or so meters left to walk home alone. He sat in the back seat. The bus moved off. He watched her through the window. He waved at her, she smiled, and she waved back. The sun was setting on the horizon. God, I'm so happy, he thought. Beata waved back; she was already far away; he barely noticed her waving. Watching the departing bus, she darted onto the road. A bang, a squeal, the setting sun...

Mateusz snapped out of his lethargy and cried. Why hadn't he taken a later bus? Why was he in such a hurry? Why?

He couldn't remember how he got home. As usual, he was woken by the phone, of which there were so many lately. He never answered. He even considered disconnecting it. He would definitely have to disconnect it, which would pay the bills. He was down to his last 100 złoty. Buying just one powdered soup and a pack of cigarettes a day would last him about 20 days. And what about the rest? He was devastated. After yesterday's visit to the cemetery, he missed her even more. He began spending entire days in bed, constantly smoking, and when he got tired, he went to sleep. The apartment was tightly closed, the windows drawn. He couldn't hear a sound. Only the phone rang occasionally, which he didn't answer.

He finished another cigarette and closed his eyes, deciding to go to sleep. He slowly drifted off to sleep. The phone rang and woke him. He became nervous. He ran over to it, intending to rip out the cable and was about to do so, but for some reason, he picked up the receiver and said,

"Hello?"

"Um," he heard a sheepish voice.

"Well, hello," he said nervously.

"Hi. My name is Weronika, you don't know me, but can we talk for a moment?" he heard a very pleasant, girlish voice in the receiver. He suddenly felt a strange urge to talk to this voice, he hadn't done so in so long.

"It must be some mistake, I don't know any Weronika," he said, not betraying his desire to talk.

"Wait, don't hang up, you're Mateusz and you studied law, right?

" "Yes, and...?" "

Exactly, I've been looking for you for almost a month because I..."

"How did you get this number and what do you want?" he interrupted, nervous. She reminded him of his studies.

"It doesn't matter how, the important thing is that I have it. You know, it's a long story.

" "So what do you want?

" "I met you on the bus once and I found you very intriguing. I want to get to know you. Since then, I've dreamt about you several times a night, and I thought it was a sign." She sped up her words. "

And how old are you?" "He asked her in the tone of an interrogating policeman.

"23, you're studying law.

" "23, you're studying law and you believe in omens and dreams? There must be something wrong with you.

" "Well, because I know... and..."

"Okay, okay, I want to go to sleep, do you have anything else? Maybe some fortune telling, tarot?

" "No, I don't want anything else, just... if you ever need help, my number is 429 51 29, my name is Weronika... you can call me." Mateusz wrote down the number, though he didn't know why, but he knew he wouldn't take up the offer.

"And what can you help me with?

" "Sure, just tell me how?

" "What can you do? Go get a job as a nurse in a hospital. There's a lot of help there, you can wipe old goats' asses, for example. I'm going to bed. I don't feel like talking like that. Bye."

He hung up the phone. He felt stupid. He didn't want to act like this. But it irritated him that someone wanted to help him. And how could anyone help him? He crumpled up the note with the number and threw it behind the couch. He went to sleep.

**

Weronika hung up. And burst into tears. What a jerk. She'd made a mistake. She really wanted to change that face, wanted to help him, cheer him up. She'd poured all her enthusiasm and energy into this new hobby and obsession. And now she was so rejected. She should have listened to Kamil and not hung out with this lunatic. She cried for a while longer, wiped her tears, pulled out her books, and started studying for the upcoming exam. She had to catch up.

She tried to quickly forget about the incident with Mateusz; day by day, it was becoming a reality. She smiled more and more often, passed all her exams. She was happy again. Only sometimes, while riding the bus, would she remember those incredibly sad eyes. She was no longer playing her game.

It was February. Mateusz had run out of money. He still didn't have a job, he wasn't even looking for one. He had nothing to eat or smoke. The latter bothered him more. It was his second day without a cigarette; he couldn't sleep. He sat on the couch and began mentally searching for a way to get a cigarette. Then he suddenly remembered that a Carmen had once fallen behind the couch and he hadn't felt like pulling it out. He jumped up and pulled the couch out. God, what a mess it was. He found old chewing gum, a cell phone, a TV remote, a piece of candy, a slice of pizza—it all stank, empty cigarette packs, tons of wrapping paper, newspapers, and his most precious possession, a broken old Carmen. The cigarette was caked with chewing gum, and a note was attached to the gum. He removed the gum, "fixed" the cigarette, and lit it. He examined the small note. It was a phone number and the name Weronika. Yes, that was the nice girl who'd called a month ago. Oh my, how he treated her terribly back then, but she didn't have to interfere in his affairs. Hmm. Maybe she can lend me some for cigarettes. He went to the phone and picked it up. Phew, it's still working. He dialed.

"Hello?

" "Good morning, this is Mateusz Wójcik, can I speak to Weronika," he said politely.

"It's me, I knew you'd call, what do you want?" She hid her satisfaction behind weakly feigned anger

. "I thought to myself, you offered me help once, right?

" "Yeah, and...?"

"And I was wondering if you could lend me 30 złoty for cigarettes.

" "Well, I wasn't really thinking about that kind of help, but maybe we can start with that.

" "Don't push it.

" "Then don't push it.

" "Give me the three tenner, otherwise I'll hang up.

" "Okay, okay, I want to help you, how should I give it to you?

" "Come over to my place, I live at 8 Gertrudy Street, apartment 17, just don't be scared, it's a bit of a mess."

"You've got to be kidding, I'm coming to you.

" "No, no," Mateusz said, and hung up.

During that conversation, Weronika was shocked. He must be some kind of psycho. How can anyone behave like that? He's completely incompetent. I'll never go to see him again. She went to bed because it was already very late. The next day, she felt strange. She felt guilty and strangely uneasy, feeling like she'd done something wrong. She was very kind, naive, and loved helping people, so after reconsidering the situation, she decided to go to Gertrudy Street.

She knocked on the door of number 17. It opened only after a long time. Mateusz stood on the threshold. His expression was even sadder than before. Despite the expression of immense suffering, his eyes were intelligent and embodied kindness. After she introduced herself, he let her in. She looked around the apartment. It was small and very rundown. The furniture was rearranged, the sofa stood in the middle of the small room, and a pile of trash was strewn against the wall. Mateusz was dressed in old, torn sweatpants and a T-shirt with a burn mark on his stomach. He was very thin.

As soon as he opened the door, he was speechless. He saw a woman. It wasn't the same as on the street. The other girls were passing by, paying no attention to him, but this one was looking at him, focused on him. A strange calm emanated from her, a calm that momentarily drowned out his pain. Besides, she was very pretty. He felt very strange. Suddenly, he began to feel ashamed of his apartment, of his neglected appearance. They looked at each other, a strange silence reigned. He spoke first:

"You're lucky, I thought it was for dismantling the phone.

" "No, it's just me, I brought you money," she replied in a very calm, warm voice.

"Come in, sit down

." He doesn't know why, but he started talking to her; it was his first long conversation since... They talked and talked. Perhaps it was her warmth and radiance that made Mateusz tell this complete stranger the entire story of Beata and his life after that sunset. They both cried. She told him how she'd found him. They talked about their childhood, their studies, their family. During this conversation, Mateusz felt no pain, could breathe, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled. She had to go. She promised she'd return, and as a farewell, she quoted him a fragment of a poem:

"If you accept the ruin of what was the meaning of your life,

When you humbly begin to rebuild it with worn-out tools

(...) you will be human."

They said goodbye.

He couldn't sleep for a long time. He was hungry. He thought about today. He felt guilty about talking to a strange girl, about smiling. He felt very strange. The pain wasn't as intense anymore. He tried to recall randomly a minute from Beata's time. He remembered. He fell asleep. The next day, a knock woke him up. He opened the door. It was Weronika. In her hand, she held a bucket, lotions, brushes, and a bag of food.

For the next few weeks, Weronika visited Mateusz every day. They ate together, talked, walked around town. Mateusz found a job, started talking with the dean about returning to college. He went home and visited Beata's parents. He started taking care of himself, paying the bills. He smiled. He thought of Beata very often. He felt no pain. The apartment began to feel like a normal home. He was slowly recovering. Even his sense of humor returned. With each glimpse of normality, Weronika became happier. They became very attached to each other. They spent every free moment together, grew closer. They were friends. It was mid-March. Weronika's birthday was approaching. Mateusz decided to celebrate it with a surprise, to thank her somehow for helping him. He couldn't afford to buy a gift at a store, so he decided to give her something he'd made himself. He decided to write a story for her. The message was meant to be a thank you and to express what he couldn't express verbally. He prepared dinner with wine for her, placed the story on the table, and waited for her. She arrived. She was very surprised that he remembered. She immediately wanted to read the story. Those dozen or so pages of typescript had an impact on her, she was moved. And in that moment, she realized that Mateusz wasn't just her friend. She loved him. Her innate impatience compelled her to rush at him and tell him so. And so she did. Without the wine, she certainly wouldn't have been so quick, but it happened. She threw herself into his arms and whispered, "I love you." There was a moment of silence as she waited for the verdict. And finally, he heard the same. That evening, they hugged and kissed for a long time. Finally, he walked her home and returned happily to Gertrudy Street.

Weronika couldn't resist calling Ela in Wisła and telling her what had happened. They talked for 40 minutes and were invited to Wisła for the weekend with Mateusz. It was just a few days away. She was so excited and happy. Her whole face was smiling. She fell asleep like a baby.

Meanwhile, Mateusz was sitting on the floor of his apartment on Gertrudy Street. Around him, letters from Beata were scattered, one after another. He felt an incredible emptiness. The pain returned.

Weronika woke up even happier than the day before. The first thing she wanted to do was call Mateusz and tell him about the weekend in Wisła. She called. One, ring, two, three...

"Hello?" she panicked, hearing Mateusz's hoarse, quiet voice in the receiver.

"Mateusz?... What happened?... Mateusz! " "Weronika

, I can't. I can't do this to Beata. She... I'm sorry . " "

Mateus, please don't do this! Wait, I'll come to you soon." "No. I don't want to see you ever again. Goodbye." " Beep be ... He stopped eating. He began to think about suicide, just like he had last August. But he decided against it then, deciding he had to punish himself by not doing it. Now he didn't care; he just wanted to numb the excruciating pain. He slowly got out of bed and went to the medicine cabinet, searching for some medication. There were only 12 Still-Nox tablets left. It had to be enough. He swallowed them all at once and lay down on his bed. He slowly began to feel himself falling asleep. His eyes were closing. The world was starting to spin. He saw Beata. He started saying goodbye to her. She smiled at him, just like she had then. He was calm, he felt good. He started talking to her. Then Beata's smile vanished. She made one of those faces he hated, ones he specifically designed to show him she was feeling bad. They called those faces "faces." She looked at him, the "face" never leaving her face. She said, "You idiot, she loves you, and you love her." "But Beata, I love you," he replied. "If you want me to be happy, don't think about me and don't disturb my peace. I'm fine. You can be fine too, but don't reject Weronika. " "But..." At that moment, Beata disappeared, and in her place appeared a huge Doberman, which started running towards him. He knocked him over. Mateusz hit his head on a rock as he fell and felt excruciating pain. He vomited. He woke up lying on the floor. Next to him was a pile of vomit, inside which glistened white pills. He had to find Weronika. He fell asleep again. **

The window was clean, with no curtains. From the seventh floor, the landscape of the nearby Żywiec Beskid Mountains stretched out, here and there covered with tiny snow domes. It was March 20th, 5:00 a.m. The light was rising outside, and an orange-pink patch was emerging from behind the mountains, which in a few hours would become a vast ball of warmth. A cool breeze blew into the room through the open window, carrying the scents of departing winter, mingling with the first hints of spring. At the foot of the mountains stretched the Vistula River, coming to life. Lights were coming on in some apartment buildings and cottages, and a car passed somewhere. The entire panorama exuded the silence, peace, and purity of the morning. The sun rose a little higher, and a small ray of light entered the room, curled around the lamp, and reflected onto her head. She didn't react. She continued to sleep. She was lying on her stomach, only a mass of curly blond hair peeking out from under the covers and her hand dangling to the floor. He looked at her, looked again at the view outside the window. Yes. Stay a moment. He was at the brink of happiness again, truly happy. His soul was filled with peace and joy. In that moment, nothing and no one mattered, only what he saw and what he felt for her, and he was madly in love with her. Another cold breeze blew through the room; only now did he feel the cold. He returned to bed. He gently shifted her limp body and lay down beside her. He felt the warmth of her sleepy body and the shiver the difference in temperature caused between them. Thank you, Beata, thank you, Weronika. Thank you. There was no pain. He fell asleep.

The weekend in Wisła was ending; it was time to go home. They traveled by train, kissing and joking constantly. Mateusz apologized to her for the situation. Right after she left for Ela, he called her home and followed her on the next train. At the station, they simply fell into each other's arms without unnecessary words. Mateusz simply muttered, "I'm sorry and I love you." He didn't mention the suicide attempt or the hallucinations. They had a wonderful few days. It was time to return to reality, but for them, it wasn't the same. This time, Krakow was colorful, sunny, and joyful. They lived in hope for tomorrow. They had each other.

He walked her to the bus stop. They saw her bus in the distance. She said she would return alone. They quickly said goodbye and arranged to meet again the next day. The day was ending. The sun was setting behind the buildings. She ran to the bus stop. She made it. He walked a little further along the street. He saw her get on and sit in the back seat. She waved at him. He waved back. The bus was pulling away. "I love you so much, Weronika," he thought. He entered the street, wanting to cross. Suddenly, he realized he was in the same spot where Beata had died. He looked at the bus as it was moving away, realizing he had witnessed this kind of situation before. He felt fear; he was in the middle of the street. He spun on his heel. Too

late . Bang, screech, sunset.

She was woken by the fourth phone call this "morning." She hadn't answered it, why would she? She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock: 1:15 p.m. "That's fifteen minutes less than yesterday, good result," she thought. She didn't like jumping out of bed in a panic, so she lay still and stared at the ceiling. What day was it today...? March - yes, the 22nd - yes, Wednesday - yes. I missed the civil law exercises - well, I'd only been to one this semester anyway, the Roman law lecture - optional, the criminology seminar - interesting, but oh well. I still have sociology in an hour, hmm, maybe I should go, but why rush? No. December 17th, a nice date, meaning it's been a year since... suddenly she felt something like a huge weight fall on her chest...