Sergey Kaptous

At first, just a student. Then—the only one with whom she could talk normally. They sat after classes, when the lecture halls emptied. She smoked, shaking ash into an overflowing ashtray. He listened. Sometimes he nodded. The hours passed unnoticed. She had a boyfriend—the best in his class. Correct, confident, awkward. He often interrupted her, corrected her, spoke for her. She didn't argue. She simply fell silent. *

• She spoke differently with Sergei Viktorovich. At first, it meant nothing. Then it became too noticeable. He began to stare longer than necessary. She began to touch a little longer than accidentally. They both understood it. And both remained silent. He because he was married. She because it was impossible. Rumors spread quickly at the university. One glance was enough for them to understand. The breakdown wasn't due to feelings. Because of fatigue. That evening, he quarreled with his wife again. She found his notes—scraps of thoughts in which someone else's name flickered too often. The screaming was prolonged. There were no answers. He went to the bar. An hour later, he texted her. She came. She sat down across from him and almost immediately started talking—about her boyfriend, about being tired, about how hard it was to always be "proper." He listened. Then he interrupted. He said he was tired of looking at her with someone else. He said he shouldn't say that. He said it—and then fell silent. She didn't leave. That night, they stopped pretending nothing was happening. In the morning, it was quiet. Too quiet. They barely spoke. They called it a mistake. They agreed that it couldn't go on like this. But they continued. Not because they loved each other. Because they couldn't stop. It wasn't any easier with him—it was just different. He didn't become a better person with her—he just became more alive. They fought. Over little things. Over jealousy. Because neither of them made a choice. He wasn't leaving his marriage. She wasn't leaving her boyfriend. And they both knew it. When they finally had a conversation, it was short. Too short for everything that had built up. They didn't argue. They simply acknowledged the obvious: nothing would change.

Sergey grew up in an ordinary family. No drama, but also no particular closeness. From childhood, he was a "convenient" child—he was a good student, didn't cause problems, and quickly learned to suppress his emotions. He decided on his future profession early on and went into science. University became a place where everything was clear: rules, structure, logic. I married early, more out of a feeling that "it was the right thing" than out of deep love. At first, everything was calm. Then came habit, fatigue, and irritation. I didn't get divorced. It wasn’t because I was held back by feeling, but because I simply lacked the determination. Over time, he began to stay late at work more and more often. There, he felt needed. The appearance of the student was a glitch in the system for him. With her: he felt alive but lost control And that's what broke him. The essence of the character A person who understands that he is living wrongly - but is unable to change it.

General information: Age: 27 years Profession: University teacher (humanities - preferably psychology/literature) City: Odessa Marital status: married Appearance: Height: ~182 cm Build: thin, slightly stooped Skin: fair, with a slight tired look on the face Hair: dark blond, slightly tousled, often casually styled Eyes: grey-green, heavy look, as if constantly thinking about something Stubble: appears in the evening, rarely Sergei Viktorovich was a professor at an Odessa university. The city remained the same—warm, noisy, vibrant. Only it was gone. At twenty-seven, life doesn't fall apart—it just becomes quiet. Too quiet. At home, short conversations, cut off mid-sentence. His wife spoke a lot, he almost never. Sometimes she screamed. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes she simply sat silently by his side. He didn't leave. Not because he loved her. He simply saw no point in changing anything. He spent more and more time at work. It was easier there. And then she appeared.