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A day like any other. The weather was awful. Just a few degrees above freezing. Dark clouds, slowly moving towards the city from the north, offered no sign of a spring idyll. Perhaps, if it weren't for the crowds of young people wandering the streets, no one would have noticed that this was no ordinary April day. It was approaching 3:00 a.m., the favorite time for the bell, whose loud but rather nasty sound can be heard almost throughout the city. Even though it was Good Friday, the heartbeat of the bell, haunting the walls, was the same as usual. Busy people... Everyone was going somewhere, heading somewhere, with a purpose. One was going to the bank, another to the post office, another picking up his wife at work to later head to the supermarket. There was a cause, an effect, and consequences. Nothing happens without a cause, by chance. Among all these people, there was someone special. He carried a backpack on his back—like most. Neatly dressed in denim pants. Green jacket—the color of hope. His favorite color. He loves to look out the window at the trees, which are growing greener by the day. The room is painted the color of spring grass. Anyone who enters this room feels relaxed and at ease. The host is praised for his excellent taste. In his backpack he carries a rope, or maybe a rope. A good 5 meters, the strongest he could find. His name is Adam. He's going to hang himself...

He's not the first, and he won't be the last. A teenager, like many. He has his favorite band. He has braces on his teeth. He gets pocket money—it's not astronomical, but it's enough for trivial things. He doesn't smoke. Every now and then he'll have a beer or three. Just for the taste, to relax. Then even a broken twig can make you laugh. He once smoked a blunt, but then he felt bad and never tried again. He doesn't go to church—it's not fashionable. What kind of Catholic will I be? Will anyone ever see me again, and what will happen then?

Despite that, he enjoys going on pilgrimages. You can meet new people. You can never have too many good friends. Not everyone walks to be closer to heaven. Sometimes you go because a friend asked. You have to impress. He's not a scoundrel... He never hurt a girl. If necessary, he apologized with a flower. He's always happy to take out the trash or help the elderly lady in the building next door with her shopping. He once gazed at the stars all night long. The whole night long. At the sight of a shooting star, he closed his eyes and conceived a dream. He didn't know then how much it would change his life. After all, someone created these stars. Someone made them shine so beautifully that we can admire them and dream about them. Every planet, every celestial body has its guardian. But who knows... Adam asked for someone special, someone who would change his life. She would make him understand why he tears away the veil of sleep every day. He asked for the One.

He walks calmly, in no hurry. His head is lowered, his gaze glued to the passing meters of the sidewalk. He passes many people. None of them even think they're passing a suicide. Yes, a suicide. A person who voluntarily, unforced, wants to take their own life. That most precious treasure given to us by the Creator. To break with themselves, with their problems. He doesn't realize that this will condemn them to eternal damnation. But how is he supposed to know?

He's known for a long time where he'll take his own life. In this very spot, someone will find him. Someone will be terrified by the sight of a limp young man, swaying in the wind like a broken branch; someone will look into his face. What will they read in it? After a while, his mother will answer the phone: "I have some terrible news for you, your son has just hanged himself."

He won't be hanging long. People often pass this way. She wants him found as soon as possible.

He has about a kilometer left to the fateful spot. Very little. Half an hour and it will all be over. The last 30 minutes of his life. His mind is blank. There's no doubt.

To get there, he has to cross a busy street. He ignores it. To him, it's just a normal stretch of sidewalk. The terrifying screech of tires, and a moment later, the blare of a horn, jolt Adam out of his lethargy.

"Puppy, watch where you're going. Is life not good for you?" shouts the truck driver, who has stopped just a hair's breadth from Adam's head.

"Just so you know," he replies calmly

. The man behind the wheel, clearly surprised, just shakes his head, before continuing his journey. The suicidal man takes a few steps and finds himself on the other side of the street.

"Why the hell did he stop? It would have been over by now, and at least people would remember me as a victim, not a suicide..." These are the thoughts swirling through his mind.

"Friend, friend," a quiet male voice says, providing a sense of security.

He pays no attention to these words.

"Friend, friend," someone calls again.

He glances back warily, but there's no one there.

"Friend, friend."

He glances nervously in all directions. No one.

"Friend, friend."

It seems no one else hears the call. He spins around a few times, searching with his wild eyes for anyone who might call themselves his friend.

Suddenly, he makes a sharp turn and collides with a young man, only a few years older than him. They both land on the sidewalk. The passerby is clearly dazed. Adam barely felt the impact. He immediately jumps to his feet, dusting off his clothes. The nuts the unlucky man was carrying scattered around the area.

"Are you okay?" Adam asks in a concerned voice.

"I'm more worried about you," the man replies.

"You don't know me, so why are you worried about me?

" "I don't need to know a person to know they're sick.

" "Me sick? I wonder what?

"

"You know." "I don't know.

" "What are you carrying in your bag?"

Adam is surprised. He hadn't expected the question. Surprise is etched on his face like a painter's hand. The man looks confidently into Adam's eyes, which, ripped from sleep, dart chaotically along the sidewalk.

"You still think you're not sick?" The question comes as if from a courtroom.

"Piss off. Who are you to decide whether I'm sick or not? I'm sorry I bumped into you, but if you're okay, you can go now. Goodbye.

" "You can leave me, but you can't fool yourself."

Adam, without a second thought, turns on his heel and walks away a few meters.

"A woman?

" Adam stops. A look of surprise crosses his face. The same one appeared a few moments earlier.

"Yes, a woman, born of hell, but she's only the tip of the iceberg." Anyway, it doesn't matter... - a calm, resigned tone

. Silence falls after these words. Adam has no idea what to do. On the one hand, he wants to ask the stranger many things, on the other, he wants to get it all behind him. He wants to finish the chapter, close the book.

"There are still many blank pages ahead of you," the man says.

"What are you talking about?

" "No poet writes a book just to finish it halfway, leaving the rest as blank pages.

" "But I haven't written any book.

" "You're still writing it."

"And on the first page, in green font, in capital letters, is engraved:

'I'D RATHER HUMANS HATE ME THAN BE THEM JUST AIR, WHICH WE KNOW IS...

INDIFFERENCE IS A CURSE.'"

A little lower down, in smaller letters, is written:

'CONVERSATION IS WHAT SEPARATES US FROM ANIMALS.'"

An unfamiliar voice recited it in such a way that it sent shivers down Adam's spine.

He looks behind him and sees another man, probably the one who had just spoken those important words.

The three of them are standing now. Adam glances nervously from one man to the other. The fear has vanished. The first man smiles mysteriously; it's clear he's been expecting another interlocutor.

Adam feels he's found the key that can open the tiny door in his own heart. Someone knocks on it from the other side.

"Who are you? And what are those words that found their way onto the first page?" The voice gains energy, hope.

"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is who you are. The words that are the key to all doors have been buried under sand all these years. You didn't even know them. Recently, however, you unconsciously stirred a gentle breeze. You thought it was a spring breeze. And indeed it was, but after a short time, it changed beyond recognition. It began to resemble the dangerous elements that can destroy in a matter of days everything you've painstakingly built over months. Someone stepped forward to meet you, trying to stop the element, to establish a silence that would soon transform into a refreshing breeze. It even succeeded—or so you thought. You'd lived your entire life in a vacuum, so you couldn't be prepared for even the slightest breeze. Unfortunately for you, the wind picked up with amplified force. At first, you didn't feel its full force. It reached you slowly. It's like a viper's venom." If your reaction to the bite is immediate, you have a great chance of avoiding complications. However, if, at the urging of others, you ignore the situation, the venom will gradually hurt you more and more deeply. You begin to seek help. Every intervention seems the right one, even though you unconsciously open the wound even more. You realize what a grave mistake you've made, yet you're helpless, because the poison is circulating through your body. You believe there's less and less of it, but unfortunately, some particle of matter tells you it will be with you forever. That if it disappears, maybe in two weeks, a month, six months, a few years... that only God knows when. The storm has lasted long enough to have managed to clear away all the sand... A beautiful male voice read everything as if he had an open book.

But there is no book. A fundamental mistake. There is a beautiful, unique, and unrepeatable

book. With countless pages to write on.

Adam stands. Stands, his eyes filling with tears. He stands in front of the door, key in hand. Someone is knocking furiously on the other side. He wishes he could knock. He's not sure he hears the knock. He knows there might be an antidote behind the door.

"Since you're reading from my book, please tell me if..." The suicidal man pleads with the other man.

"You can't read from other people's books unless they allow you to," a subtle female voice interrupts Adam.

He looks up in surprise and sees a young woman joining the conversation. The four of them are now standing. The men look warmly at the woman. They look like siblings.

"You know full well you could have read from this book. You even had the best seat. But you shared its knowledge with someone who reads many books. This one, too, was special to you. You revealed the chapters that were meant only for you. You closed it for a long time. You thought this book belonged to you. That thanks to you, so many important matters and events were written within it. You underestimated its power, its subtlety. That it is so important to you. You burned the page, and now you don't know what's happening to it, because the book is closed to you. You just stand on the sidelines and watch others reading it, laughing and rejoicing. That's when the venom is most intense. The pain won't let you forget, not a day goes by without you regretting it. You don't know what you can do to make it open up to you again. You want it so badly that you'd give up many books just to be able to read from this one book again, even if it's from the last row." Even if the letters reminded you only of a large flock of ants—the first man's melodic voice. You don't hear such words every day.

Adam stands as if in a trance. All his problems, thoughts, and even dreams, which he had suppressed for so long, flowed out of him in an instant like water from a broken bottle. He hadn't realized such a cleansing could be so helpful.

"You must learn to ask yourself questions and seek answers. Every action has its causes and effects. Nothing happens by chance. So there's a reason you're struggling with this storm. Don't forget, too, that there are other, equally beautiful books just waiting for you. You know many of them, and you will know even more. Try to read as much as you can from them, because you never know if the page you're currently reading might be the last. There are also people for whom reading from your book is, even though you often don't see it, very necessary and valuable. Know also that one of the most beautiful books for you is the one with the teddy bear and the chick on the cover. You have to believe." There will come a day when you will wake up to the rustle of trees bending in the wind, and when you go to bed, your hair will gently flutter from the flutter of an angel's wings—a woman's delicacy acts like a balm.

Adam experiences an incredible experience. He looks into the eyes of all three strangers. He doesn't know who they are. Where did they come from? Why do they know more about him than he does? Slowly, he realizes that they are angels.

The first man is his guardian angel. The second is the guardian angel of this one, this one. The woman, on the other hand, is the guardian of that tear that fell across heaven on that fateful night. How beautifully they complement each other. But not angels. To him, they are as abstract as God and all the rest.

"Will you wake me up every day? Be with me throughout the day, and when needed, help me with difficulties? Will you answer my questions, even if they concern trivial matters? When a powerful wind tries to push me off the path, will you help me stay on track? When God opens his book and a moment later reads mine, will you be with me? When that moment comes, will you help me break the chains from the gates so that I can find behind them that one open book—my medicine?" Adam turns with a pleading voice to the "strangers."

"I have always been with you, you just couldn't see me," someone said, but none of the angels opened their mouths.

The heavenly guests smiled at Adam, and as he was about to ask them one more question, a bell rang. It's 3 o'clock. Good Friday. Adam looks toward the church, from which a resonant gentleman's voice resounds.

"And even if the book opens for me, I fear I won't be able to read it." What grade will the Lord give me?—With these words, he turns to the angels, but there's no one there.

He's now standing alone on the sidewalk. No one around. His interlocutors leave no trace behind. Only the nuts still lie scattered. Adam turns around a few times, just as he did when he heard the words, "Friend, friend." Suddenly, he realizes where he's going. He quickly opens his backpack, but it's empty. Like the angels, his rope has vanished without a trace. However, he notices something small at the bottom. He reaches inside and pulls out a white sheet of paper with the words: "I hope you get a good grade. I wish you the best!" And beneath the words, a beautiful sun and a name.

"Learn to ask questions and find answers," the angel said. Tears welled in Adam's eyes. He knew this was a fragment of that book that was still closed to him.

But he knows he'll wait patiently until the day comes when he can lie down to sleep in the breeze of an angel's wings.

"Excuse me, ma'am, can I help you?" "He asks in a caring voice an elderly lady who is having difficulty crossing the street.

"Thank you very much," the old woman replies, moved.

"Do you believe in angels?" the boy asks.

"I do," the old woman replies, looking at the young man.

"Have you ever seen them?

" "One is helping me cross the street," the old woman replied kindly.

"I'm not an angel.

" "Of course not, are you writing a book to ask that?

" "And just so you know," a broad smile appears on his face.

"Thank you for helping me, my son, you're a very good boy..." Goodbye

. "No problem, thank you, ma'am." Goodbye.

He walks a few meters away, already knowing what day it is. He knows that by taking his own life, he would be condemned to eternal damnation. That if the Lord had opened his book, there would be no angel beside him. He knows that thanks to him, the truck stopped at just the right moment. He also knows who took the rope from his backpack. All because of one being. One, unique, unrepeatable. Thanks to his own angel.

He looks back at the place where he spoke with the angels. Now, in that place stands the old lady who had just crossed the street. Adaś shouts once more,

"Goodbye! Angels..."

***

The characters and events are fictitious.

Any resemblance to reality is...

Only the blank page is real...

I dedicate this story to all who have encountered closed books along the way

. Interpretation is optional.