As before.

Różana Street. Old, dilapidated tenement houses towering above a narrow street. The landscape resembled a prison with a single prisoner guarded by a hundred guards. The first rays of the May sun were lost between the concrete roofs. A park filthy with dog feces and beer cans, the only greenery for several miles.

A couple was walking along the sidewalk of this very street. She, about 50 years old. Beautiful, despite the lines of time on her face. He, probably not much older than her. A gentleman, with a substantial belly and a Sarmatian mustache.

The woman clung to her husband's arm as if she couldn't manage the journey on her own. They made it every week. The weekly walk was meant to distract them from their household chores. He was already thinking about his game of chess with a friend, she about shopping. They didn't speak to each other.

The loud click of the lock on the front door of apartment number 17. He helped the woman take off her coat and went to his room. The door slammed, as if casually announcing, "Do not enter."

She sighed, looking at her wedding ring, worn by time. How many years had they been together? Five years ago, their only son had moved out, when he was 25. That made 30 years together. Today. Did he remember? She preferred not to check.

She turned on the television and went to make dinner for her husband and his friend. Potatoes. Carrots. Meat for pork chops.

A muffled voice drifted from the television in the living room.

A young, attractive man was talking about the sunny beaches of Spain. Every week he was somewhere different, every week a different, interesting story. The sound of waves, the sounds of people having fun, soft music filtering from the speakers in small seaside bars.

She arranged the deliciously fragrant dinner on plates and poured two glasses of compote. He was already greeting his friend, so she slipped out of the kitchen, grabbed her coat and beret.

"Oh, Halinka's leaving already? But how can you say that?! "

I have to go. Enjoy the game.

" ***

"Mmm... Delicious dinner, delicious." The balding gentleman leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight.

"Would you like more?" The other man leaned his elbows on the table, wiping his mustache.

"No, thank you." He gave a short belch, confirming his full stomach.

"And why did Halinka leave?

" "Who knows who she is? She often goes out lately.

" "What's a woman.

" "Because every woman runs around like that?"

"Well, well... If only you could see my Marysia... She'll come running in from the market square and start swearing in all directions, who's been with whom, since when, and why this way and not another... Is yours a vendor too?"

"No, calm." "

Doesn't she talk much?"

"Yes, not much."

"And look at you," Łysy said, nervously combing the remains of his hair, laughing at the same time. "Because maybe she's cheating on you?"

"Halinka? Oh, you, Staszek, you stupid head. Her? At that age?

" "She, she! What does age matter? If she doesn't say what and where, she's probably found another guy...

" "Where do you think she is?"

"So we have to look far? Your woman is pretty, she can cook, clean up, doesn't bark her little mouth left and right, you just have to appreciate her!"

The mustache-man frowned as his friend broke off his monologue. Maybe there really is something to it?

"Well, thanks for the game and the meal, Mareczek, but I'm going now. He's probably trying to worry."

Mareczek stood up, saw his friend off, shook his hand as big as a loaf of bread, closed the door. And rushed towards the mirror. He'd done that rarely lately. Too rarely.

His substantial belly doesn't fit in the narrow mirror when he's turned in profile. Standing frontally, it's not much better. The belly is hidden, but the stubble on his cheeks, worn thin by time, doesn't look good. Just like his dark gray, carelessly combed back, thinning hair. He tried to smooth it down, shape it into something that would look prettier and neater. His hand moved to his forehead. A wedding ring gleamed on his finger.

Something had struck the man, one might say, right in the heart. A vague, quick thought emerged and bit him as quickly as a viper that had only been a stick in his hand a moment ago.

A wedding ring. A wedding. Anniversary.

"Oh my," Mareczek groaned.

" Flowers and a box of chocolates, please. How much

?

" "What?" The saleswoman recovered from the initial shock of seeing an older man in slippers and an elegant coat, who had almost knocked out a customer's teeth as he left the store.

"FLOWERS AND A BOX OF CHOCOLATES!" the older man roared elegantly.

Ha, probably a drunk," the cashier thought flashed through her mind. "Oh, maybe so." As long as he had the money and got out quickly.

"What box of chocolates and what flowers?"

"Well, flowers... They're roses, red!" And the box of chocolates is just an ordinary one." The man calmed down, but his breathing was rapid.

"What ordinary one?

" "That one." The customer fumed, pointing to the first chocolates lying on the counter.

"Decorate roses, a decorative bouquet?"

"Yes, yes, just quickly."

The woman behind the counter pulled out a pretty bouquet of red flowers and hurriedly wrapped it in colorful foil. A decorative ribbon, maybe white. It was best not to ask him; he doesn't seem like the type to choose colors well.

"Forty-eight złoty. Twenty groszy."

The man pulled a banknote from his pocket, threw it on the counter, grabbed the box of chocolates and flowers, and then bolted from the store, clicking his slippers.

"It's a strange world," the saleswoman hummed. She didn't try to catch up with the customer with his change of one złoty and eighty groszy.

***

Halinka was returning home from a walk. A lonely one, this time. It didn't improve her mood, quite the opposite. Spring. Lots of couples holding hands. Young, pretty women. Young, pretty men. She had been like that once, too.

Age didn't bother other girls her age. They gossiped, met at parties, sipping coffee, went to church together, trudged through life together. The old life that had once been so fulfilling, now gradually drained away, causing her despair. Like an addiction.

The passage of time, it seemed, hadn't bothered her until recently either. It was the natural order of things. But for a few years now, it had gradually turned into poison. Marek, once affectionately called Teddy Bear, had also become bitter. They grew bitter together, never even realizing when ordinary activities became routine. When words became more sparse. Without Teddy Bear. Without the little one. When words finally ran out.

Then it wasn't time, she thought. Not time, only them. She mentally apologized to time. And to life, which moved inexorably, pushing the clock's hands so quickly.

They were lost. And they couldn't find it. Everything seemed meaningless, and she, raised in an old-fashioned way, thinking that nothing good could ever happen in life, didn't have the strength to stop. Divorce? At this age? And who would she find? Who would want an old, ugly woman with nothing left to offer but rheumatism and her own old-age problems?

No one.

Her own son had forgotten her. He'd gone to Krakow to study. A year ago, he'd returned and introduced his fiancée with a beautiful smile, auburn curls, and a large belly, a sign of an advanced pregnancy. He'd called recently, asking about Dad, how Mom was doing, if she needed anything. He'd mentioned his daughter in passing. He'd asked for a name suggestion for his granddaughter. He thanked her, assured her they'd come back as soon as the little one was older and Kasia felt better.

No, he hadn't forgotten. He'd built his own happy life. And that was fine. As long as they loved each other.

She didn't need love anymore.

She decided not to get sentimental, but she couldn't stop the heat that burned her eyelids from the inside. She opened her eyes slightly, and two small tears fell down her cheeks.

***

"Halinka?"

"I'm coming. I'll just take off my coat."

Her husband ran up to her and helped her take off his coat. She thanked her, and he kissed her on the cheek.

He kissed her. She couldn't remember the last time he'd done that.

"Don't look at me like you've seen a ghost." Mareczek lowered his eyes modestly, twisting his fingers. Shy, just like...

Like before.

The touch of a hand. Something awoke within her, with a single brush of thick fingers. Like a bear from lethargy, it awoke... Something she couldn't name. Something that had died had awakened. A feeling. And a sense of security, the assurance that someone would place flowers on the cold marble covering the grave, that someone's tears would fall. She didn't believe this would happen to her again. She'd already forgotten what it was. What it meant. But he reminded her. She

returned the touch.

"I..." He stammered, clearly searching for words. He couldn't find them. It didn't matter, they were unnecessary. He held out the roses to her, along with the box of chocolates.

She reached for her handbag. She took out a book. She remembered, though she thought he had forgotten.

They exchanged gifts, exchanged glances and smiles.

"Thank you, beautiful roses." Halinka stood to put the flowers in the water, but then sat down next to her husband. The husband she had regained today.

"The Fall of Communism," Mareczek read, looking at the spine of the book.

The silence was broken by the rustle of foil. She was unwrapping chocolates.

"You're beautiful," her husband muttered.

Her smile widened. It didn't matter that the compliment was as old as time. It didn't matter that the one giving it lowered his eyes modestly, blushing more than the recipient of the praise should.

Marek looked at the book again.

"Thank you."

She looked into his gray eyes. She'd almost forgotten how much he loved them. How much his gray eyes loved her.

"And I'm sorry," he added after a short silence.

She took his large hand.

Gray, wise, warm eyes. Eyes full of love. Just like before.