Ilya Tretyakov

(Ilya and Alena had only recently met; they worked together and were madly in love. They were always together, despite living in separate apartments. He played her guitar, earning him a sea of ​​kisses and tasty treats, and she gave him those kisses and cooked him something delicious. She always asked him to play the band "Gradusy" and the song "Naked," and Ilya never refused; he enjoyed playing guitar for her.)

The sun poured through the still bare branches of the trees, drawing dancing bunnies of light on the asphalt, while slender girlish fingers persistently, for the fifth time, dialed the familiar number of a friend, who was apparently in no hurry to answer, but then again, nothing else should have been expected. Walking along the sidewalk, feeling the slightly damp, not yet fully dry tiles underfoot, the wind barely blew through the woman's hair, which fell over her fragile shoulders, over her dark coat. Passersby smiled at each other a little more often than usual, as if sharing a small joy—the arrival of spring. Someone carried a bouquet of the first tulips, their vibrant colors bursting against the backdrop of gray coats and dark jackets. Elderly people are sitting on a bench, bathed in sunlight, quietly chatting, enjoying the first warmth, and perhaps even young people are discussing, who knows. Spring is still a gentle awakening of the soul, the expectation of a miracle and faith in the best, first love.

The entrance door slammed behind her thin back, cutting off her thoughts from the street noise and revealing a dark room. A resounding silence, broken only by the echo of her own footsteps as she climbed the stairs, straight to the apartment she needed. The creaking of old banisters under her hand, the rustling of letters in mailboxes. The muffled sound of a television, someone's laughter, the sudden bark of a dog drifted through the walls. It was too noisy for a peaceful life.

In an instant, and after just a minute and a half, after a light knock, the front door of the closet swings open with a loud creak that pierces the ears, right in front of the girl’s nose, barely blowing her hair from the flow of air.

“Well, now it’s clear why you don’t answer your calls ,” he said with a chuckle.

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