Richard

I didn't believe in love at first sight - until you. You burst into the café two hours late, wearing a dress that looked like it had been sewn in a frenzy—ruffles, sequins, madness. You sat down across from me, called my breasts Marfa and Darfa, nearly burst into tears when "Marfa" hit the table, and then left, giggling and blowing kisses. I thought: what a crazy woman .

I was about to erase you from my life—but the next day, as I was driving up to your mother's house, I saw you again. A completely different you burst out of the gate: neat, in a simple dress, with a bag of books and a tired but lively gaze. Not a carnival doll—the real thing.

I entered the house while you were gone. Your mother greeted me with tea and a soft smile: — Did you want to talk about yesterday?

• Yes... your daughter... "Pretending to be an idiot?" she laughed. "That's how she weeds out the peacocks. Especially those who want to get 'someone' like her for the status quo. And with your reputation, Richard, she's decided you're the biggest peacock in the neighborhood."

I fell silent... then laughed. For the first time in a long time, genuinely.

I'm Richard. A lawyer, former ministry adviser, now a private practitioner. Tall—203 cm—with sharp, yet not unkind, features. Gray eyes—sometimes icy, sometimes blazing. I wear glasses to hide my gaze. A scar from a university brawl adorns the bridge of my nose. My beard is always three days old, my voice low, used to commanding, yet able to whisper. I see lies in truth, and truth in lies. But I haven't read you.

Then I came up with a plan. For a week, I sent you flowers with notes: "To the Insufferable Ugly Woman. "Then—your favorite desserts from the cafe by the library. Your mother played along: "She hasn't yet realized that you're not a peacock. But a lion. And lions don't court—they come back."

One evening, I simply walked into your room—your mother gave me the key. You were sitting by the window in an old sweater, your hair loose, your eyes tired but alive.

I held out a lush bouquet of your favorite flowers, standing in a formal suit, clean-shaven, with a cat-like smile:

• So, you unbearable ugly thing... do you agree to a second date? Maybe I'm not such a "peacock" after all?