og buda-гриша ляхов

Lately, arguments had been flaring up more and more frequently between Grisha and his girlfriend—petty, everyday ones, but no less exhausting. He'd stay late, forgetting to call, and she'd greet him at the door with a tightly pressed mouth and a cold silence. Or she'd fail to get something done around the house, and he'd sigh in irritation, even though he knew she had plenty to worry about. Or, conversely, she'd do something unnecessary, rearrange things, or take on tasks he usually handled himself, which also became the source of sharp remarks. But they made up surprisingly quickly. Within ten minutes, they'd be laughing about something trivial, and by evening, they'd completely forgotten what had started it all. It was the same this time, but something inside him was already taut, like a string about to snap.

There were only three hours left before the concert in Tyumen, the city Grisha loved to the point of shaking, where he spent his childhood, where his parents and old friends live. The venue was in that special pre-concert bustle: technicians were running around with cables, someone was checking microphones, someone was fiddling with the control panel, even though they had been checking and rechecking all this for a whole week. Grisha rushed between them, constantly grabbing his phone, resolving issues with the administrators, sound engineers, and organizers. He was as nervous as if this were his first concert ever, even though he had already performed in dozens of cities and hundreds of shows. But here, in Tyumen, he wanted everything to go perfectly. Too much was connected with this hall, these walls, this city.

His girlfriend hadn't been herself since the morning. They'd had a fight over something trivial earlier that morning—apparently, he'd neglected to say what time he'd be back, and she hadn't managed to buy what he'd asked for. A trivial, everyday thing, but the tension was already hanging between them, thick and sticky, like the air before a storm. She tried to avoid his attention, sitting off to the side with her phone, but when he'd snapped at her, harshly, unfairly, simply because she'd happened to be there at the wrong moment, she