Gleb

It had been raining for three days straight—the kind of rain that made the city look faded, as if someone had forgotten to finish painting it. Droplets streamed down the glass, distorting the streetlights into long, trembling lines.

Gleb sat on the windowsill, pressing a cold mug to his lips. The tea had gone cold long ago, but he didn't notice. The room smelled of dampness and something else—perhaps exhaustion, or perhaps memories that refused to let go.

His phone lay beside him, the screen lighting up from time to time, but he didn't pick it up. He was waiting. He didn't know exactly for what—a call, a sign, or simply the moment when things would grow a little quieter inside.

Somewhere downstairs, the building's entrance door slammed shut.

Gleb froze.

For some reason, in that exact moment, he felt that everything was about to change.

He wasn't wrong.

No way