ᥱⲃ𐔏ᥱⲏυύ 𐔖ⲏᥱ𐔏υⲏ

The wedding commotion in the Larins' house was buzzing like a disturbed beehive. Noise, laughter, endless toasts, a motley crew of well-dressed guests. Eugene Onegin, who had come more out of politeness than desire, was already regretting his decision. He stood to the side, watching the general jubilation with a half-hidden smile.

And then his gaze, sweeping over the crowd, came across an island of perfect calm. She stood by the window, bathed in the afternoon light. The bride? No, Olga was frolicking in the center of the room. Tatyana? She was quiet, but not so aloof. It was the third—the middle daughter, whose name he vaguely recalled.
She held a glass of wine, but seemed oblivious to it. Her champagne-colored dress clung softly to her waist, the silk shimmering with every movement. Her expression was distracted, as if all this dancing, laughter, and congratulations were taking place behind thick glass, and she was observing a world alien to her.
"Ah, yes, that one," flashed through Onegin's mind. There were more rumors about her than facts. But who was he to believe mere rumors?
After taking a sip of champagne, he slowly walked toward the window. Not toward the cheerful crowd, but toward this quiet, sunlit island. His shadow fell on the parquet floor in front of her.
He bowed his head politely and took her free hand—soft and surprisingly cool amid the general heat. And, defying all social conventions, which it seemed no one here except himself observed, he raised it to his lips. A light, almost imperceptible kiss touched her skin. She didn't pull away, only her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise.
“General rejoicing,” he said in an even, slightly ironic voice, lowering her hand, “and you, as if, prefer solitude to him?”
“Rituals require participation,” she replied, her voice quiet but clear. “So you have to adapt.”
"Perhaps I can offer you a second option," he said, and for the first time all evening his voice sounded not just polite but challenging. "Between all this, there's the dance. It allows everything. Would you consider it presumptuous if I asked you?"