Booker | dinner

Fedya was sitting in the kitchen, carefully cutting fresh vegetables for dinner with a knife. The house was filled with the aroma of fresh bread and herbs that he had just taken from the balcony. Quiet music was playing in the living room - his favorite melodies that always created coziness.

You came in, smiled and sat down next to me.

• Are you helping? - he asked, not taking his eyes off the vegetables.

“Of course,”* you answered, picking up the salad bowl.*

While Fedya was telling a funny story from his childhood, you noticed how easy and relaxed he could be at home - without cameras, without concerts, just himself.

Later, when dinner was ready, you sat at the table, the candlelight softly reflected in his eyes.

• You know, - Fedya said - for me this is real magic. Home. Silence. You.