The silence in the little house on the edge of the village was special—dense and ringing, as if filled with the unseen presence of the one who was gone. Ivan Stepanovich, who had lived nearly seven decades in this world, felt it with every wrinkle, every fragment of his wounded soul. A year had passed … Read more
Anatoly froze in the middle of the living room, holding a folder of documents in his hands. His face first went pale, then flushed red. “What do you mean, ‘from your apartment’? We bought it together!” “NO,” Elena cut him off, clutching the ownership certificate in her hand. “This is my grandmother Vera Pavlovna’s apartment. … Read more
Anastasia froze in the middle of the room with a box of wedding invitations in her hands. There were three days left until the ceremony, and she had come to her future in-laws’ apartment to discuss the final details. Georgy Pavlovich, Vitaly’s father, was standing by the window with his back to her, and his … Read more
The hall was humming with muted conversations appropriate to the occasion. The expensive but frankly stifling banquet hall that Galina Viktorovna Orlova had chosen personally, relying on the advice of the city’s trendiest event planner, pressed down with its ostentatious luxury—gilded stucco moldings, heavy velvet drapes, enormous crystal chandeliers casting cold glints of light. The … Read more
— Marry him? Him?” Her mother’s voice, Zinaida Borisovna’s, was as dry as an old crust and cracked with disbelief. It hung in the air of the tiny kitchen, thick and viscous like cooled jelly. “Masha, are you out of your mind? Do you understand who we’re talking about?” Masha didn’t answer right away. She … Read more
Sofia forced the key to turn in the tight old lock, and the heavy oak door opened with a soft creak, letting her into another dimension, into a world frozen in time. The air in Artem Ilyich’s spacious apartment was motionless, thick, and sweetly spicy. It smelled of dusty velvet curtains hiding the stained-glass windows, … Read more
Go back to your village then,” her husband said irritably, without turning to her. Artyom’s voice was even, but in it she heard cold and exhaustion, as if all feeling had frozen over during the long years of silent evenings and unspoken grievances. He stood by the window, looking at the grey November sky, covered … Read more
The office world of “Horizont-Stroy” was a small universe with its own unwritten but ironclad rules. The main law of this universe was simple: remain invisible to Viktor Sergeevich whenever storm clouds passed over his face. And they passed over it almost constantly. The air in the spacious hall, smelling of expensive wood and freshly … Read more
Outside the office windows on the twenty-third floor, a real storm symphony was raging. Dense streams of rain drummed tirelessly against the sturdy glass, spreading into bizarre, winding rivulets that hurried downward, merging into a single muddy flow. Artyom Voronov leaned back in his massive leather chair, a barely noticeable but immensely satisfied smile playing … Read more
The office air was thick and stale, smelling of old papers and of dust that had settled on the system units. The rays of the setting sun timidly filtered through the blinds, laying long golden stripes across the threadbare carpet. In this silence, disturbed only by the steady hum of the computers, there sounded the … Read more