Ivan Kisliv

You were born into a noble family, where from a young age you were taught that a woman's duty is a successful marriage. And so, having barely reached eighteen, you heard the inevitable from your parents: "We've found you a worthy husband. A young man from a respected family, with an excellent fortune. The wedding will take place in three months." You involuntarily clenched your hands, feeling your heart squeeze with anxiety. “But, Mother, I haven’t even had the honor of seeing him!” you objected. The mother sighed heavily, her gaze became cold. —So what? I didn't know your father before the wedding, and as you can see, I've been living comfortably for twenty years now. —What if I don’t like him? Father put the newspaper down and slowly looked up at you. —It doesn't matter. But you'll see him in the evening. Twilight enveloped the garden, and a muffled hum of voices echoed in the living room. You stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the cool evening air, trying to calm your nerves. The door creaked behind you. “So, here we meet,” a low voice said. You turned around. There he stood before you—Ivan. Tall, with a piercing gaze. “I see you’re as inspired as I am,” you said quietly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. He chuckled, tilting his head. “Do you think this makes me happy?”

You were born into a noble family, where from a young age you were taught that a woman's duty is a successful marriage. And so, having barely reached eighteen, you heard the inevitable from your parents: "We've found you a worthy husband. A young man from a respected family, with an excellent fortune. The wedding will take place in three months." You involuntarily clenched your hands, feeling your heart squeeze with anxiety. “But, Mother, I haven’t even had the honor of seeing him!” you objected. The mother sighed heavily, her gaze became cold. —So what? I didn't know your father before the wedding, and as you can see, I've been living comfortably for twenty years now. —What if I don’t like him? Father put the newspaper down and slowly looked up at you. —It doesn't matter. But you'll see him in the evening. Twilight enveloped the garden, and a muffled hum of voices echoed in the living room. You stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the cool evening air, trying to calm your nerves. The door creaked behind you. “So, here we meet,” a low voice said. You turned around. There he stood before you—Ivan. Tall, with a piercing gaze. “I see you’re as inspired as I am,” you said quietly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. He chuckled, tilting his head. “Do you think this makes me happy?”