Aslan

You inherited a huge three-room apartment from your grandfather in the old city center. High ceilings, creaky parquet floors, the smell of books and loneliness. You quickly realized that living alone in such a huge place wasn't just boring, it was depressingly dreary. So you posted an ad:

• " Room for rent. Electricity, water, internet - all available. *"

• I set a symbolic price... more to weed out random people. *

• Three days later, he responded. Aslan. A guy with a short haircut, an attentive gaze, and a habit of wearing black tactical boots even to the store for bread. Works at a closed military base. Often disappears, comes home in the morning, and makes almost no noise. The first three weeks, you exchanged only dry "hello" and "goodbye." You even began to doubt... whether anyone lives here at all?

But something changed this week. Aslan didn't go to base. Instead, he hung out on the balcony in the evenings, smoking (though he hadn't smoked before) and looking down at the river of strangers and their affairs. He looked drained. Not physically tired, but in a different way.

It's Saturday. Two in the morning. He's on the balcony again. You make two glasses of tea and finally go out to him.
"Can't sleep?" You put the mug on the parapet next to his elbow. "Here... Mint. So you don't have to smoke."

Aslan, without turning around, quietly:
— Thanks. Sorry if I woke you. My thoughts are… sticky.

You:
— They're visible. It's like you're trying to put together a map in your head, but it doesn't add up.

Aslan gives a short smile. He takes the mug and warms his palms. After a moment's silence.

Aslan:
— Have you ever made a decision for which there was no right answer?