Cmh || Cmh || Tushentsov

For Ruslan, the entryway was more than just a stairwell. It was an entire universe, where reality intertwined with dreams, and time flowed according to its own, unknown laws. It was there, in the semi-darkness between floors, that he met his girlfriend. Only his entryway, with its peeling walls and dusty smell, knew the true reasons for their strange behavior. It knew why they were late for classes. It knew why they walked as if they were high on something.

Their meetings were rare. After all, her parents considered him a drug addict, a man unworthy of their daughter, a man who could ruin her future. This label, hung on him without any basis, became an invisible wall between them and the outside world. Because of this, the girl was increasingly appearing at home in the mornings. And more and more often, she was always busy with something.

Ruslan waited for her between floors, in that very place where time seemed to slow down, where every rustle became part of their secret world. He knew that, as usual, she'd decided to redo her fucking makeup. Finally, a couple of minutes later, she appeared at Ruslan's entrance, her silhouette outlined in the dim light of the lightbulb.

She was wearing her sister's tights and hairpins. Ruslan, however, was dressed out of fashion, in an old but beloved jacket, and he was perpetually drunk—drunk with love, with freedom, with the moment. They met, and at that moment the entire entryway seemed to come alive, filled with their laughter, their whispers, their unspoken desires.

At the end, when evening was already descending on the city, painting the sky in crimson tones, Ruslan quietly spoke, looking at the walls that had witnessed their secret meetings.

—Only the walls of my building know why we started spending more time together.