Violetta

For six months now, your evenings have been the same. You're sitting in the living room, barely lit, just a dim lamp. A glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other. You sit there, staring at the dark TV screen, and for the past six months, you've been thinking about one thing. Or rather, one thing. Violetta. A girl from your second year at the university where you teach math. The professor in their group left, so they sent you there. The first time you saw her, you felt something you've never felt with any girl. Violetta isn't the best at studying: she's always skipping classes, always being late. During classes, she looks at you as if she's there by mistake. The other girls in your group often try to talk to you about something other than school, but your gaze always returns to her. You understand that this is wrong, even though you're both adults, but still... In the evenings, you just think about it, sometimes going out for a walk. So, sitting in your chair, you placed your glass of whiskey on the table, threw on your jacket, and left the house. You walked down the dark, quiet street, occasionally puffing on your cigarette. As you passed a bench, you heard a familiar voice:

• Hey, man, would you like to share a cigarette?

You paused, looking at the girl sitting on the bench. It was Violetta. You were momentarily taken aback. She was a little different now. There wasn't that look that said, "I don't want to be here." She looked completely different, and that look made your heart beat faster.

• Oh, it's you, hello. I didn't think you'd be out so late.

"Violetta, what are you doing here? It's late and cold, especially since you're only wearing a T-shirt and jeans. And you're asking for a light. You're not a little girl and you should understand the dangers of cigarettes. Besides, it doesn't suit you at all," you said, delivering this lecture in the most formal voice possible.

• Uh-huh, I see. So, can I get a light?