Ivan Kniaziev – What Remains After Goodbye (страница 2)

The vendor handed her the cup. She thanked him in a language Ethan didn’t catch, then stepped aside so they weren’t in the way of other customers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. It wasn’t awkward exactly – it was simply uncertain. Like they were both waiting to see what the other would do, what this second meeting was meant to become.

Mira broke the silence first.

“Do you want to walk?” she asked, as if they’d been doing this for weeks.

Ethan nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked along the river path, side by side, the city opening around them. The wind carried the smell of water and damp leaves. Mira sipped her drink and made a face.

“It’s bad,” she announced.

Ethan glanced at her. “What is it?”

“Something that claimed to be caramel.” She looked mildly offended by it. “It’s mostly disappointment.”

He smiled, and she noticed. Her expression turned pleased, as if his reaction was an answer to a question she hadn’t asked out loud.

“You’re smiling,” she said.

“I’m just agreeing with your review,” he replied. “Very professional.”

She laughed – not loud, but real. It surprised him how quickly it settled into the space between them. Like laughter had been waiting there.

They reached a bench under a tree whose branches had started to thin. A few stubborn leaves clung to the edges like they hadn’t accepted the season yet.

Mira sat down without asking. Ethan followed, leaving a small distance between them that felt intentional. Respectful. Careful.

She looked out at the water.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” she said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure either.”

She turned her cup in her hands, watching the steam drift upward and disappear.

“What made you?” she asked. “Come back, I mean.”

Ethan hesitated. He could tell her the easy version – that he happened to be nearby, that he liked this place, that he wanted fresh air. But the easy version felt like a lie, and lying to her felt… wrong, somehow. As if she would notice it immediately, not because she was suspicious, but because she paid attention in a way most people didn’t.

“I’ve been tired,” he said instead.

It wasn’t the whole truth. But it was true.

Mira didn’t push. She only nodded slowly, as if she understood exactly what kind of tired he meant.

“Me too,” she said.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was the kind you could breathe in.

After a moment, she asked, “Do you live here? In the city?”

Ethan nodded. “For now.”

“For now,” she repeated, smiling faintly. “That’s a very temporary answer.”

He shrugged. “My life has been… temporary.”

Mira looked at him in a way that made him feel seen without being exposed. She didn’t stare. She didn’t demand details. She simply held his words carefully, as if they were fragile.

“Mine too,” she said again, softer this time.

Ethan turned his head, studying her profile. The curve of her nose, the loose strand of hair caught in the wind. She looked like someone who belonged to her own world – someone who could leave a room without closing the door behind her.

“What do you do?” he asked.

She took a sip of the terrible drink, then answered, “I make things.”

He waited.

She glanced at him, amused. “That’s not enough for you.”

“It’s interesting,” Ethan said. “But vague.”

Mira’s smile widened slightly. “Fine. I paint. Mostly. Sometimes I photograph things. Sometimes I draw. Sometimes I ruin a canvas and pretend it was part of the process.”

“And does that work? As a life?”

“It works as a way to not disappear,” she replied, and there was something in her voice that made Ethan stop trying to read it like a joke.

He nodded slowly. “I get that.”

“What about you?” she asked.

He almost said architect. Almost gave her a title that would make him sound steady and put together. But that wasn’t entirely true anymore – not the way he felt it.

“I build plans,” he said. “And then I watch life change them.”

Mira considered that, her gaze drifting down to his hands as if she could see the life he’d lived in the way he held himself.

“Sounds painful,” she said.

“It can be,” he admitted.

They sat quietly for a while. People passed, their footsteps crunching softly on the path. A child ran ahead of an adult, laughing. Somewhere, music played faintly from a portable speaker.

Mira leaned back, looking up at the sky.

“I like places like this,” she said. “Because no one expects anything from you. You can just exist.”

Ethan swallowed. “That’s rare.”

Mira turned to him then. Up close, her eyes were a color that shifted depending on the light – not dramatic, not unnatural, just alive. She held his gaze without flinching.

“Do you feel like people expect too much from you?” she asked.

Ethan’s first instinct was to say no. To deny it, to keep the conversation safe. But he found he couldn’t.

“I feel like they expect me to be okay,” he said.

Mira’s expression changed – not pity, not sadness. Something quieter. Respect, maybe. Like she recognized a kind of honesty that wasn’t common.

“Are you?” she asked, her voice barely above the wind.

Ethan looked away, back to the water. He watched it move and move, never stopping, never asking permission.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I’m… functioning.”

Mira nodded as if that was enough.

“Functioning is a talent,” she said. “People underestimate it.”

Ethan let out a small breath that sounded almost like relief.

He didn’t realize how much he had needed someone to say that.

A gust of wind sent a few leaves spiraling into the air. Mira watched them drift down, then suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook. It was worn at the edges, the kind that had been opened too many times.