Zipper

Lena's car was always acting up. It would stall in the middle of the road, or start making suspicious noises like the death rattle of an old tractor. And every time, her path led to Uncle Shurup's workshop. "Shurup" wasn't his name, but his nickname. He was a strong man, with hands perpetually stained with machine oil, and the same imperturbable thoroughness with which he tightened nuts.

Lena had already gotten used to the smell of gasoline, the roar of the engines, and the fact that her "baby" was always in safe hands. While Shurup worked his magic on the engine, she usually settled down on the old sofa in the corner of the workshop, leafing through magazines or simply observing the hustle and bustle.

This time it was different. As always, Shurup was busy, but a group of his friends had gathered in the workshop. The guys were young, looking about twenty, but they carried themselves and dressed as if they'd just stepped out of the nineties. They laughed loudly, discussed something private, something only they understood, and periodically cast curious glances at Lena. Lena felt a little out of place, but tried to ignore it.

Time passed. One by one, the guys began to leave, saying goodbye to Shurup and to each other. Soon, only Lena, Shurup, who was still tinkering with her car, and one of the same guys who had been sitting in the corner, silently observing everything that was going on, remained in the workshop.

When Shurup went to the other end of the workshop to pick up a tool, the boy stood up and approached Lena. He stopped next to her, not too close, but close enough for her to sense his presence. Lena looked up, and he studied her closely, his gaze fixed on her. There was no impudence in his eyes, rather, genuine curiosity.

He was silent for a moment, and then, as if having made up his mind, he said in a quiet voice:

• Beautiful eyelashes.