ARDEN

Arden was woken by a cool breath of morning wind that slipped through the ajar window and wandered around the bedroom. It found his bare chest, tracing across it and raising goosebumps. He opened his eyes, only realizing a moment later that he was freezing. He was uncovered, which explained the chill. The duvet lay on the floor next to the bed. He sat up, his bare feet meeting the fluffy rug. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Consciousness was slowly returning. He picked up a bottle of water and took a few swallows. The clock read four-forty. He stood and walked slowly to the window. The view took his breath away: heavy gray, and in places black, clouds drifted lazily across the sky. In the east, from behind the trees, the sun peered out shyly, soon to begin its daily trek across the firmament. The visible sliver of the disc was bright yellow; the clouds nearby were blood red, and as they distanced themselves from the light source, the color faded, shifting into shades of orange until it vanished completely. The forest over which the sun was rising was devoid of color, reduced to a dark silhouette against the illuminated sky. It had rained in the night. The water that fell on the earth had been greedily absorbed, leaving no trace, but the drops that hit the asphalt and roofs glistened in the sunlight. He stood mesmerized by the sight, regretting he didn’t have a camera on hand to capture this miracle of nature. The world dislikes stagnation, rushing forward at breakneck speed. The image before him quickly changed.
​The man left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, put water on for coffee, and went to take a shower. He stood a long time under the warm streams of water, leaning one hand against the tiles. He dried off, brushed his teeth, and blow-dried his beard and hair. He rubbed oil and balm into his facial hair and skin, then brushed out his beard with a boar bristle brush. Most people think beards are worn by lazy men who can’t be bothered to shave, completely unaware of how much time goes into their upkeep, not to mention styling the hair. He looked into the mirror. A forty-year-old man with ordinary features stared back. A triangular beard, a high, tight fade on the sides, and longer hair swept to one side—all of it masking his round face. Dark, almost black hair contrasted sharply with his graying beard. He wore black-framed glasses over blue irises. Prominent lips completed the picture.
​He returned to the bedroom to pack his suitcase. He should have done it yesterday, but there’s never a good time for that. He packed underwear, polo shirts, and jeans, just in case. The trip wouldn’t be long, but it was better to have spares. Next, a carefully folded shirt went into the suitcase. Finally, he stuffed sports shoes into an extra pocket. He put on the trousers he’d laid out, carried his shirt and blazer downstairs, and draped them over the back of a chair. He grabbed his toiletry bag from the bathroom. He had to boil the water again because it had already gone cold. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen and living room. He hesitated for a moment over breakfast, settling on scrambled eggs—nutritious and quick to make. He turned on the TV, switched to a music channel, and slowly ate his breakfast, washing it down with hot, black coffee. The clock struck six; he was surprised, not expecting it to have taken him so long to get ready. He loaded his plate, cutlery, and coffee mug into the dishwasher. He put on his shirt and blazer. He mentally checked if he had packed everything. An epiphany: his charger and headphones. He ran quickly to the bedroom. He put on his shoes and stepped out of the house. The taxi had just pulled up.
​The ride to the station went by quickly. Traffic in Almeris was still light, though they were slowed down by traffic lights that stubbornly stayed red, as if trying to make him miss his train. He paid for the ride using his phone; technology is highly useful and helpful in such cases. He had also bought his train ticket online and only had a digital copy. With nearly twenty minutes left until departure, he walked at a leisurely pace toward the station entrance, pulling his suitcase behind him, its tiny wheels bouncing mercilessly on the uneven pavement. The crowd grew with every passing moment; people walked in silence, in a hurry. He navigated the underground passage, lined with poster-filled display cases, store ads, and walls smeared with obscene graffiti. At least the security guards had managed to weed out the bums—not that he’d have minded them, if not for their nasty habit of relieving themselves in this, after all, enclosed space. He pulled his phone from the inner pocket of his blazer and checked which platform his train was leaving from. Before putting the device away, he fished his headphones from his pocket, plugged them in, and opened a streaming app with his favorite music. He pocketed the phone and headed to the platform. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the people around him.
​The train pulled into the station with momentum. A white and blue locomotive passed him, followed by white and blue carriages with a green stripe above the windows, slowing down with a loud squeal of brakes. The moment the train came to a complete halt, the doors opened automatically, and a swarm of people in multi-colored clothes spilled out. Their faces were serious; almost no one was smiling. They were focused on leaving the platform as quickly as possible. Then he noticed her—a pretty brunette with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Their eyes met for a second; she gave a breathtaking smile and vanished into the crowd of passengers. He turned, caught sight of her for one last moment, and quickly rationalized that he wouldn’t have time to run after her and ask for her number before his train departed. The truth, however, was that he wouldn’t have dared to approach such a pretty girl anyway. The last few people had exited the carriages, prompting the crowd around him to start boarding. He found the carriage matching the number on his reservation. People were swarming and shoving at the doors. He could never understand this; after all, everyone had a guaranteed seat, and even if they boarded last, they would still leave at the same time. He found the compartment with seat number thirty-one, stepped inside, and offered a customary „good morning” to the two people he’d be traveling with. On the left, near the door, sat a middle-aged man with dark hair peppered with gray, clean-shaven and neatly dressed. By the window, opposite his seat, was an older woman with straight white hair and large glasses in heavy brown frames. He carefully placed his suitcase on the luggage rack, making sure it was stable and wouldn’t fall and hurt anyone. He sat down and relaxed. He noticed the woman saying something to him, but her words were drowned out by the music flowing from the headphones still lodged in his ears. He pulled them out and asked her to repeat herself. It turned out she got motion sickness riding backward and asked if they could swap seats. He agreed, as it made no difference to him, and a few seconds later, the switch was made. He put the headphones back in, closed his eyes, and retreated into his own world. He recalled the dark-eyed beauty from the platform, summoning her image in his mind. The first thing that stood out was her long, dark, straight, shiny hair. Next, he remembered laughing hazel eyes, perfectly manicured, delicate eyebrows—no heavy drawn-on lines or thick whatever-they-are. He realized that if he focused hard enough, he could recall quite a few details. A slender, symmetrical face; delicate, shapely lips coated in pale pink lipstick. When she smiled, he noticed a row of perfectly even white teeth. A slim figure, yet very feminine. She wore tight blue jeans that accentuated her wide hips, and a black blouse with a deep neckline. He regretted not finding the courage. He always only ever regretted. The train jerked slightly and began its journey.
​The man opened his eyes, and the image of the stranger dissolved and vanished. Riding trains as a little boy, Arden used to imagine that the train was standing still while the world outside was moving. Right now, he had a similar feeling. The platform, the benches, the pillars holding up the roof, the station clocks—all of it broke into a sprint, disappearing faster and faster behind the thick aluminum window frame. He smiled faintly. The images appeared and vanished with increasing speed. Despite his headphones and the music streaming straight into his ears, he heard the characteristic, drawn-out whistle of the locomotive. As expected, the train rolled through a level crossing with closed barriers, behind which cars waited, ready to resume their journey at any moment. They passed houses, warehouses, and factories; walls smeared with inappropriate scribbles as well as colorful graffiti that were small works of art. The buildings appeared less and less frequently until they vanished entirely, replaced by green meadows laced with red poppies and yellow marsh marigolds, and black, evenly plowed fields where freshly planted crops barely broke the soil. They rolled onto an old steel bridge over a river, where a barge full of coal was being pulled by a tugboat. Suddenly, the compartment door slid open, and the conductor stepped in. Arden pulled his headphones out, retrieved his phone from his pocket, pulled up his electronic ticket, and pointed the screen at the conductor, who scanned the code, said thank you, and left. The other passengers must have had their tickets checked earlier. He decided to get some coffee.
​He left the compartment, sliding the door shut behind him, and headed toward the restaurant car. He had two more carriages and their narrow corridors to navigate. Several times, he had to squeeze past other passengers walking in the opposite direction. He also noticed a few people standing in the corridor, likely out of their compartments to stretch stiff bones. The advantage of trains over buses. He thought his fondness for trains might have something to do with the fact that his father, uncles, and grandfather had all worked for the national railway. He reached the WARS dining car and was quite lucky; the moment he walked in, a young couple vacated a table. He ordered a black, bitter coffee and sat by the window. His thoughts returned to the girl from the platform. She had made a bigger impression on him than he initially thought. He analyzed that brief moment when their eyes met, the memory of her captivating smile; he captured that brief flash and, like a 3D movie, examined every single frame. He felt a tightness in his chest, shook his head slightly, and opened his eyes. The nameless girl vanished, and he returned to reality. A hot, steaming cup of coffee sat on the table before him. He was never a connoisseur, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee always brought him pleasure. He slowly drank the hot beverage, savoring it. He returned to his compartment to find a new person there—a young blonde with short hair. She glanced at him fleetingly, then went back to reading her book. He carefully took his seat. They were leaving some larger city, buildings disappearing from sight, when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen; it was a friend calling. He stepped out into the corridor so as not to disturb anyone. They talked for a long time, covering topics from Formula 1—which they were both fans of—to recent front-page news, and finally, the stranger he had been too shy to talk to. He heard a few „warm” words about his lack of self-confidence and the punchline: „better to try and regret it than regret never having tried.” In principle, he agreed with the maxim, but putting it into practice wasn’t always so simple. Heading back to his seat, he noticed his journey was coming to an end. He carefully pulled his luggage down, said his goodbyes, and left the compartment. Outside the station, he caught a taxi and headed to his scheduled meeting.
​Two days later, in the middle of the night, he boarded his train back. He slept through almost the entire journey, so it passed quickly. He arrived at his destination early in the morning. The sun had just woken up, sleepy, and was slowly beginning its journey west. The morning was crisp, so he decided to walk to the city center and get some coffee, though he had no idea if he’d find any place open. He walked at a leisurely pace along nearly empty sidewalks; only a few cars passed on the streets. The city was still asleep. Suddenly, from around the corner of an old tenement house, someone stepped out, looking the other way. They collided. The girl lost her balance and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her by the hand.
​”I’m sorry!” they said in unison.
​”Don’t mention it,” they echoed again.
​She smiled, and that was when he recognized her—the dark-eyed stranger from the platform. He felt himself blushing; his cheeks were burning. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious. The heart in his chest started pumping blood like crazy, and his stomach fluttered as if there were an airplane in there flown by a mad, drunk pilot. His lips went instantly dry, his throat completely devoid of saliva. They stood there, looking at each other. He resolved to ask for her name, but the words were barely a whisper, trapped in his larynx. He curled his left hand into a fist, brought it to his mouth, and cleared his throat. He was about to speak again, but she beat him to it.
​”I’m steady now. You can let go of my hand.”
​He looked down, loosened his grip, and she slowly pulled her hand back. He was so flustered he just wanted to grab his suitcase and walk away, when he heard that clear, resonant voice again.
​”Were you going to ask my name?”
​He glanced at her. She was still looking at him, smiling adorably, amused by his embarrassment. He pulled himself together and answered.
​”Yes, that’s exactly what I was about to do. So, what is your name?”
​”I’m Klaris. And you?”
​”Arden. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Klaris”—the stress had completely let go.
​”Could I invite you for a coffee?” he added.
​”I’m very sorry, Arden, but I’m already late for a very important meeting. I can’t reschedule it,” though I really wish I could, those last words echoed only in her mind.
​”In that case, maybe you could save my phone number, and if you find a spare moment, reach out?”
​She punched the string of digits into her phone, and they parted ways. After a few steps, he looked back at her as she hurried away. He had only taken a few more steps when his phone rang. He checked to see who was calling, but only a number flashed on the screen. Just then, her words reached him.
​”Now you have mine!”
​He looked back. She was waving at him, smiling broadly.
​”Talk to you later!” she added, then resumed her brisk walk, turned left, and disappeared behind a building.
​He headed toward the city center, pondering what had just happened. A thousand thoughts swirled in his head. When she turned down the coffee, citing a meeting, he had been convinced she wasn’t interested in getting to know him. He tried one last time by leaving his number, thinking it was the fair thing to do; some people have reservations about giving their phone number to a complete stranger. This way, the woman decides whether to share hers. As it turned out, Klaris took that step quickly, which gave him absolute wings. Finding a café at that hour wasn’t easy, but he managed. He ordered a black coffee. A few minutes later, a cup of the aromatic beverage sat on his table. He pulled out his phone to save the number in his contacts, but ran into a slight complication. He didn’t know what to put in the „last name” field, and Arden always saved every contact with a first and last name. After a long internal struggle, he sent a message explaining why he wanted to know her last name. The reply came surprisingly fast; it turned out Klaris completely understood his „quirk” and, what’s more, did exactly the same thing. He filled in the contact details, finished his coffee, and asked for the bill. He paid, left a tip, and stepped outside. Traffic was already quite heavy. People were rushing, and the number of cars on the streets was growing by the minute, causing ever-larger traffic jams, and consequently, stress and anger. A few drivers honked at the absent-mindedness of others, gesturing wildly and undoubtedly swearing profusely. The temperature had risen enough that he draped his blazer over his forearm. He found an available taxi and went home.
​He turned on some music and went to take a shower. Wrapped only in a towel, he went to brew some tea. Picking up his phone, he was surprised to see two messages from Klaris.
​The first read:
k – Arden, you learned my first and last name, but you haven’t returned the favor. Not nice!
​The second was an emoji—a monkey covering its eyes. Well, the girl had a point. He replied immediately, apologizing for the faux pas. He got dressed, sat at the table with his mug of tea and his notebook to analyze the data and events from his trip. But his thoughts kept drifting back to the encounter on the street. Every so often, a message popped up on the WriteMe messenger, which he answered, or he would spark a new thread himself. Work was going slowly, but the „conversation” on the messenger flowed smoothly and pleasantly. It turned out they had similar interests. They transitioned seamlessly from light, mundane topics to heavy, existential ones. One of the more shocking pieces of information was Klaris’s age. She brought the topic up herself, convincing him he’d quickly get bored of texting a kid. He seized the opportunity and, fully justified, asked for her age. She looked young, of course, but the seventeen-year difference made quite an impression on him. For the moment, they decided not to worry about „nonsense”—ultimately, you are only as old as you feel. The day flew by in a flash. Before he knew it, he was getting into bed, phone in hand, still tapping away at the virtual keyboard. He went to sleep well past one in the morning; in fact, it was closer to two.
​The next few days followed the exact same pattern. He went to work, ate, drank, but in reality, he was constantly texting Klaris on WriteMe. They spoke on the phone a few times; after one of the calls, she texted him that he had a „manly voice” that she really liked. For a long moment, he stared at the smartphone screen, not knowing how to reply, and ultimately just said thank you. He learned that she lived about fifty kilometers away in a city called Grõth, but came to Almeris very often, especially on weekends.
​A few morning activities became a ritual. The very first thing upon waking was the phrase „Good morning! Have a great day,” along with every synonym he could think of, sent via WriteMe. Next came the morning bathroom routine, then coffee. Thursday morning was no different. The forecast promised no rain and moderate temperatures—the wonderful promise of a day off. Klaris had already texted him yesterday saying she’d have a busy day today; the intensity of their conversations had caused her to fall a bit behind on her projects. Without overthinking it, he ate breakfast, put on his motorcycle gear, fired up the engine, and slipped his helmet on. He pulled on his gloves, adjusted the mirrors, and set off. He always rode the first few kilometers calmly, waiting for the engine and tires to reach their optimal temperatures. He rode without a specific destination in mind, but soon found himself heading toward Grõth. He loved riding his motorcycle, especially riding fast—recklessly fast. Let’s be honest, riding like a maniac at speeds well over two hundred kilometers per hour on public roads is pure idiocy. Naturally, Arden agreed with that opinion, but when he was on the bike, he couldn’t hold back. He’d lay flat on the fuel tank, tucking in behind the windscreen, gripping the bike tightly with his thighs, and twist the throttle. The engine would roar to life, the revs surging to twelve thousand in a flash. Clutch, next gear. The howl of the engine, the roar of the wind, the world blurring in fractions of a second, overtaking cars, carving through corners. In those moments, he teetered on the edge of life and death, but it was exactly then that his mind reset. The stress and burdens of daily life vanished as if touched by a magic wand. The ride to Grõth took him barely fifteen minutes. He knew his way around the city pretty well; he had worked there for almost three years. He pulled into a gas station to refuel. His body was trembling from the massive hit of adrenaline and endorphins. While paying for the gas, he bought some water. Before he drank it and prepared for the ride back, a few other motorcycles rolled through the station. He rode out, cruising around the city, through neighborhoods and parking lots, hoping he might accidentally bump into Klaris. No such luck. On the way back, he stopped at a forest parking area, put the bike on its center stand, sat facing backward on the seat, laid back on the fuel tank, propped his legs on the top case, and thought about the events of the last few days. About Klaris, about the new job offer, about the life he was leading, and about how he felt so damn lonely. A few days ago, by chance, he had stumbled upon an interesting blog. It was run by someone who signed off as „The Unobvious Man.” One entry had particularly stuck in Arden’s memory. It was titled „Heart of Stone” and discussed prolonged loneliness and how it affects a person. According to the author, being alone for a long time can push anyone to a state where they are no longer capable of loving anyone. The post ended with the sentence: „How long must one be lonely to turn into a caricature of a human being???” Arden instantly thought of Klaris, her laughing hazel eyes, her beautiful smile, and his mood immediately lifted. He smiled to himself. The short break dragged on a bit. After an hour and a half, Arden hit the road again. The journey back was at a significantly slower pace. He passed many motorcycles along the way. There is a very nice, unwritten rule among motorcyclists to greet each other and wish each other a safe ride. They do this by raising their left hand, regardless of what kind of bike they’re riding. Motorcyclists are one big family of crazy two-wheel enthusiasts.
​Back in Almeris, he headed toward the river Ort. On Strelika Street sat his favorite restaurant, Loretis, a place he tried to drop by as often as he could. The venue was situated right on the riverbank. Everything about Loretis suited him: the prime location, the decor, the atmosphere, and, of course, the service. The chef was a true master, and the waiters really knew their craft. The interior was done in dark colors; a stone floor, large heavy wooden tables, and old tools of various purposes suspended from the ceiling gave it a unique vibe. The staff hadn’t changed in years; plus, the waiters and bartenders were exclusively men. Today, he sat at the bar and ordered lunch. It had become a tradition for him to read through the entire menu twice, only to end up choosing one of his two favorite dishes anyway. At Loretis, you had to wait a good fifteen minutes for your meal; everything was fresh and prepared only after you ordered. While waiting, he ordered a wheat beer from the Dorth breweries. A moment later, the cold, pale-yellow drink, topped with two inches of white foam, was set before Arden. For a while, he watched condensation form on the outside of the mug, small drops rolling down the glass. Between the cold, carbonated drink with its familiar bitterness and a chat with the bartender, the plate with his steaming meal appeared in front of him before he knew it. The food, as always, was absolutely delicious. He paid the bill, said his goodbyes, and a few minutes later, he was back on the motorcycle. He cruised around Almeris for a while. When the clock struck five-thirty, he headed home. Daner, his cleaning lady, was coming over today. He preferred to pay a few Drams rather than vacuum, mop floors, and dust the furniture himself. He pulled up to the house. The motorcycle went into the garage, his gear into the closet. A moment later, Daner arrived and got straight to work. She was slim, petite, and of average height. Short blonde hair, pretty enough features, a small nose, thin lips, but Arden wasn’t particularly attracted to her. Still, he liked her visits; they always found a moment to chat. Daner studied at the Academy in Almeris. She had passed her exams and was now on summer break. She really valued her job with Arden, who had recommended her to several friends; she was thorough, diligent, and honest. The girl had come to Almeris from a small town; her parents couldn’t fully afford to support her in the city while she studied. The man started a load of laundry, paired his streaming app with the receiver, and got to ironing his dried shirts. By the time he finished, she was still cleaning. He took the ironed shirts and went to hang them in his walk-in closet. He lay down on the bed and checked his phone. There were no messages from Klaris. It felt weird; he wanted to text and talk to her all the time. On the other hand, he understood she had her job and her own life. He decided not to reach out and wait for a message from her instead. Daner finished up after three hours. Arden paid her and asked if she needed a lift. She was running late, so she agreed. She had been working for him for over six months, and every time, Arden offered to drive her, but she had taken him up on it only a handful of times. He put his shoes on, grabbed his car keys, and they left the house. Daner talked to him quite freely, but it annoyed him that she stubbornly insisted on addressing him formally as „Sir,” despite his requests not to. During the drive, he realized he hadn’t brought his phone. On the way back, he caught himself driving very fast, as if the possibility of Klaris calling while he couldn’t answer was going to cause a catastrophe. He parked the car in the driveway and sprinted to the bedroom. There were three WriteMe messages, all from Klaris:
​k – I’m still at work. I’ll be here until evening, she reported.
k – I have something to tell you, she declared.
k – Why haven’t you written anything? I’m sad – ending, of course, with the little see-no-evil monkey.
a – Klaris, I know you’re at work, and I didn’t text because I didn’t want to be pushy, he replied.
​He went to the bathroom to take a shower, then fired up his console and spent a good few dozen minutes playing video games until Klaris reached out in the evening. He had been waiting for this moment, eaten alive by curiosity over what it was she wanted to tell him. She gave a brief rundown of her day and asked how Arden had spent his. He had to summon all his willpower not to ask about the mysterious news. He felt like she was teasing him, deliberately delaying the reveal. His patience paid off. It turned out that this coming Saturday, Klaris was going to be in Almeris and, as she put it, would very much like to have a coffee in good company. He had to read the message twice. He felt flush; his heart rate spiked. He couldn’t remember the last time he reacted this way to a woman. They texted for a long time, unable to end the conversation, though they both knew they had to work the next day. The following day dragged on endlessly. Arden couldn’t focus on the simplest tasks. He kept planning and mentally staging the events of Saturday. After work, he met up with Toth, a colleague, in the city. They hit a few bars. The evening went by quickly. Arden took a cab home. Klaris had also gone out with friends, so they didn’t text much that night.
​They arranged to meet at around two-thirty in the afternoon. Arden had to be at work until two that day, so he wouldn’t have time to go home and shower. His showroom had a business casual dress code, so he opted for dark jeans, a white shirt with French cuffs and cufflinks, and a navy suit jacket. His „work” attire was a good excuse to show up to coffee looking sharp. That morning, on his way to work, he bought some chocolates and a massive bouquet of white roses with red-tipped petals, filled out with other white flowers he couldn’t name. He arrived at the spot early; Klaris was right on time. He walked up to her car with the flowers and sweets.
​”You’re crazy!” she stated flatly.
„No! Why? I couldn’t imagine showing up any other way. Klaris, please don’t feel awkward or obligated in any way,” he assured her.
„OK! In that case, thank you, they’re beautiful!” She smiled. Breathtaking smile number four.
„That’s the reaction I was hoping for all along,” he joked.
​Paradoxically, the fact that they had texted so much made them both a bit tense. Arden had chosen Loretis for the date. They sat down, ordered coffee and desserts. The awkwardness vanished like magic. They talked, they laughed. He stared at her, wanting to memorize every millimeter of her body.
​”You’re staring at me very intensely,” she noted.
„Klaris, I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. Believe me, it’s stronger than I am.”
„Arden, it’s making me uncomfortable.” She lowered her eyes.
„I’d have to turn my head away. But alright, I’ll try.” He dropped his gaze.
​She smiled. The hands on the clock sprinted around the dial like runners on a track. The time to say goodbye was inevitably drawing near. They went their separate ways, still talking via phone. The conversation ended with a strange sentence from Klaris; she said she was in a complicated situation, and Arden would have to figure out the rest. That evening, they texted late into the night again. Yet, despite his attempts and his explanations that it’s hard for a man to guess what’s going on in a woman’s head, Klaris refused to pursue the topic or explain what she meant. Unusually for him, Arden couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, obsessing over her words. He felt she had said more than she intended to. He spent a long time turning her words over and analyzing them, considering various scenarios, but came up with nothing concrete. Exhausted, he finally fell asleep after four in the morning.
​They scheduled their second date just a few days after their first coffee. She was in the city and had about an hour to kill between meetings. He had the day off. Her call caught him completely off guard, but he didn’t hesitate for a second. A quick shower, shirt, blazer, overcoat, and he was speeding downtown in his car. He made a quick stop at a flower shop along the way to buy a single, long-stemmed burgundy-red rose. He pulled up to the agreed spot, parked, and hurried into the park. She was standing on the promenade, facing the Ort River, watching something in the distance. Approaching her, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Shiny, flowing hair, a gray mid-thigh coat, a black skirt showing off her knees, nude tights, and high black stilettos. Not wanting to startle her, he spoke as he approached. Hearing her name, she turned around a bit too sharply. Her makeup, as usual, was very delicate and natural—save for her lips, painted an intense, vibrant red. Her eyes sparkled with joy and fire. He smiled, and she returned it with an enchanting smile of her own. He wasn’t sure how to greet her; a kiss on the cheek felt inappropriate, so they settled for a handshake. It felt clumsy. Giving her the rose saved the situation. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, and once again, she pointed out that it was making her uncomfortable. The weather was perfect for walking, so they strolled down the promenade. Remembering what she had told him last time, he started the conversation by assuring her that her well-being was his absolute priority. He told her it took him a long time to accept that such a wonderful woman could actually be interested in him, but that denying her words any further would be both illogical and rude. Their hands brushed against each other a few times before finally intertwining. A shiver ran through him. He told her how much he admired her strength, her empathy, her joy for life, and how captivated he was by her sense of humor. He stopped, holding her hand gently but firmly. She stopped too. They stood face to face. His voice cracked slightly, his throat was dry, his heart hammered in his chest, blood roared in his veins. He heard his own voice.
​”Klaris! I’m crazy about you. If you just let me, I’ll fight for you. I will never give up. I will bow to no one. I would walk into hell for a single smile from you.” He wanted to keep going, but she stopped him, pressing her index finger to his lips. After a few seconds of silence, he heard her quiet words:
​”I was hoping you’d say that!”
​He looked into her dark eyes, staring at them intensely, greedily, hungrily. The pupils were framed by dark brown irises that weren’t a uniform color. They were lighter on the inside, slowly darkening toward the edges, culminating in a dark, almost black ring that stood out against the whites of her eyes. The iris had a complex, radiating pattern. He noticed it was three-dimensional, and the black rings of her pupils looked like wells you could drown in. Locked on each other, neither of them moved, they didn’t even blink. So much emotion can be read from the eyes. He pulled her to him; she didn’t resist. Their hands were still clasped; he wrapped his arms around her. Their hearts beat wildly, their breaths deep. She gently pulled back. He noticed her lips slightly parted, inviting a kiss. He leaned in slowly, and just as their lips were about to touch, he opened his eyes.
​He realized he was in his own bedroom. God, it felt so real! His heart was hammering in his chest; he was breathing heavily. He put his glasses on, grabbed his phone, pulled up WriteMe, and typed:
​a – Good morning, how did you sleep?
a – Have a great day!
​The reply came quickly.
k – Good morning
k – You know!?!?
k – I dreamt of you last night!
​He stared at the screen, wondering if he was actually awake. Another message.
k – Arden, are you there?
​A few dozen seconds later, another.
k – Arden!!!!
​He finally replied.
a – Yes, I’m here, I’m sorry!
a – I don’t know what to say! I dreamt of you too!
a – Will you describe your dream to me?
​In response, he got her favorite emoji—the see-no-evil monkey. She dodged the question by saying she didn’t remember exactly. He didn’t press the issue; if she didn’t want to tell him, he wasn’t going to push it. That day, Klaris went on a trip with some friends, so Arden’s phone was dead silent. He didn’t really know what to do with himself; he couldn’t focus on anything. Finally, he called Toth. They met up a few dozen minutes later, got into the car, and just drove aimlessly, talking. In the evening, they ended up at Arden’s place, had a few beers, and around eleven PM, Toth called a cab from the Champion company, which dropped him off at home a few minutes later. Arden sat on the sofa in the living room, music bleeding softly from the speakers. His phone, lying on the kitchen counter, vibrated. Then, a few seconds later, again. He got up quickly and read the messages.
​k – Are you asleep???
k – Maybe it’s better if you are. I had a bit to drink, and I shouldn’t be texting like this.
a – No, I’m not asleep. You know very well I’m waiting for you!
a – I wanted to tell you/write to you that yesterday afternoon was magical!
a – I hope we can see each other again soon, even just for a moment.
k – I also wanted to tell you…
k – You have beautiful eyes!
​Every subsequent message from Klaris made Arden’s pulse race. His mind was completely blank. He felt like a teenager asking a girl to „go steady” for the first time in his life. He absorbed every word displayed on the LCD screen. He couldn’t fathom how Klaris could intimidate him so much; given the age gap, it should have been the other way around. His replies were simple and brief because, after reading her words, he couldn’t string together a single coherent thought. They texted until the early hours of the morning. By the time he finally fell asleep, the sun was already peeking curiously through his bedroom window. His dreams were restless. He tossed and turned, woke up, and fell back asleep. As a result, he drove to work tired as hell. Time dragged horribly. He was pretty useless at work; luckily, there wasn’t much to do. Klaris was silent. He sent his standard morning messages, which went unanswered, so he decided not to harass her with more. He was certain she’d reach out when she had a moment. He talked a lot with Toth. After work, he was supposed to go straight home, but Daner called and canceled today’s cleaning. Arden decided to take the motorcycle out. Klaris’s silence was worrying him, so clearing his head was highly recommended. As usual, his riding dangerously bordered on lunacy, and to make matters worse, the police pulled him over. As he signed the ticket, he silently thanked God they hadn’t seen the speed he was doing literally minutes earlier. He decided not to tempt fate any further, grabbed a quick lunch, and went home. He tried calling Klaris, but her phone just rang out. He decided to take a long, hot bath. He spent about an hour and a half in the tub, reading a book he hadn’t had much time for lately. Afterward, he shaved his cheeks and neck with a straight razor, followed up with his standard set of cosmetics. The bathroom visit stretched well over two hours.
​~ taking almost as much time as a woman – Arden thought.

Part one – to be continued …