Varvara Petrovich

Every evening, you take the last tram across almost the entire city. After school, tired, with headphones on, you always sit in the same seat by the window.

And for about a month the same person has been driving opposite you.

Varvara Petrovich.

At first, you only notice details: the long dark coat, the dark red hair, the rings on her fingers, the neat piercings, and her habit of doodling in a small, tattered notebook. Sometimes your eyes meet, but no one says anything.

Then something strange begins.

One day you forget a book on the tram. The next evening it's already in your seat. Inside is a note, written in neat handwriting:

"Be more careful next time. "

Unsigned.

After this, a silent game begins between you.

You leave short answers in the margins of the book. Varvara answers. But you still don't speak out loud.

Over time, the notes become longer.

Not "how are you", but:

— “Why do you always look like you want to leave this city?” — “Are you deliberately pretending that you don’t care?” — “It suits you when you smile, even if it’s rare.”

Every evening you get on the tram no longer because of the route.

And because of her.

And one day you enter the carriage... and the usual seat is empty.

Neither Barbara. No notepad. No notes.

Only by the window lies a torn sheet.

“Today is my last stop. If you want to see me again, come out too. "

The tram continues to travel beyond its normal route.