In a city of a million people, you can easily become invisible, unlike in a small village. Once I realized this, I fell in love with this big city. I loved wandering its streets in the evenings, strolling leisurely along the sidewalks among the bustling passersby. Here, no one cares about you. People are rushing or driving, caught up in their own errands, weighed down by their own urgent problems, exhaustion, and dreams. So, your messy bun, short-clipped nails, and worn-out sandals don’t matter to anyone. In a village, every person you pass stares at you, and every second person knows you. The old ladies on the benches even remember your grandfather’s middle name and whose window he climbed through for a date fifty years ago. There, they know you inside out. Every step off the beaten path gets dissected at the gossip council by the store. But here, you’re free. Here, everyone’s in their own little shell.
Someone once said that the more people around you, the sharper the sting of loneliness. A lonely person is someone with no one to bare their soul to, no one to trust, no one to share their sorrows or joys with. But if you have even one close person who’ll listen, or even a four-legged friend, you’re not alone. My father used to talk to the horses; they listened to him. He was often sad after Mom passed away, and I was too young for him to share his pain with me.
I like living with Olga. I genuinely love my aunt and, for her sake, put up with Alina and the perpetually serious Sergei. It feels like this man is completely wrong for my cheerful aunt, but that’s just my opinion. As they say, “love is a land of tangled mazes.” I can chat with Olga about a lot of things, but I can’t fully open my heart to her. It’s like my soul is waiting for someone it can trust, someone special who’ll patiently find the key to it, despite my stubborn attempts to push them away.
For my walks, I choose twilight, when the lights flicker on in the houses. From the street, you can peek at café patrons or shop displays. Passing by certain restaurants and hotels, you feel like you’ve stepped into a fairy tale or found yourself in the heart of Paris. The glow of streetlights and neon signs softens imperfections, hides cracks and stains, and makes reality brighter, more alluring. That’s why so many people love the nightlife. Evening makeup conceals your age, while daylight blinds you with the truth, highlighting wrinkles or foolishness in your gaze. At night, foolishness seems like daring and excitement, but by morning, some mistakes can’t even be fixed with a bottle of mineral water.
As I walk past a cozy Italian restaurant with two columns shaped like half-naked women at the entrance, I catch a familiar profile out of the corner of my eye. Some features are so striking that you latch onto them subconsciously. …Danny. Blue jeans, white T-shirt, a stylish summer linen jacket the color of a stormy sky, sleeves slightly rolled up, an expensive watch on his wrist. I don’t know why I’m noticing all these details, like an artist sketching every gesture and smile.
Danny is smiling at a young woman sitting across from him. They’re engrossed in conversation, exchanging heated glances. Even for an inexperienced fool like me, it’s as clear as day that dinner is just the beginning of their date. …Dessert will be served in bed.
She’s stunning, polished, an elegant flower in her thirties. Sometimes, a single glance is enough to know someone values themselves highly. That’s her. She flirts with him so gracefully, allowing him to touch her hand. Danny clearly likes women he has to chase, ones he has to win over, whose attention he must earn, whose meetings he must beg for, fearing she might change her mind at the last second. Easy prey doesn’t interest him. Now I get why he dodged clingy Alina. And poor her, still clinging to false hopes. I told her he likely has a personal life, that he’s hardly preparing for a monastery. And that personal life of his is clearly vibrant, intense, and regular. It’s so awkward that I’m staring at them—I just can’t tear my eyes away. Watching him is oddly pleasing, a kind of aesthetic delight. I can’t even imagine myself in her place, but for some reason, my stomach tightens, I want to lick my dry lips and take a deep breath to feel my chest rise. I swallow nervously and look away. My cheeks are burning! I’m ashamed of myself. No guy has ever affected me like this! I had no idea male charisma could completely short-circuit the brain of an inexperienced idiot like me. Good thing he hasn’t shown up at our place since that party, though the talk about him hasn’t died down. Alina’s obsessed.
I won’t tell her I saw him with a beauty in red. I won’t break that parasite’s heart. She’ll find out soon enough on her own.
I need to shake off this spell that’s crept into me even through the glass. Usually, cursing helps. All the way back, I badmouth Danny, coming up with insults and nicknames, calling him a womanizer, a spoiled player, and a creep. I don’t know why I decided he’s a creep, but all the old ladies back in my village of Petrykivka used to say in unison that all good-looking men are lost souls, libertines, in short.
— Oh, Rus, perfect timing! — Olga smiles, greeting me in the hallway. — I made popcorn. We’re about to watch a movie. Join us! Take a break from studying. We’ve got a comedy tonight—Alina wanted to rewatch ‘The Hangover.’
— You’ve convinced me. I’m in. Just let me hop in the shower real quick!
To stop thinking about one playboy, I need to watch a movie about other idiots and have a good laugh at their expense. It helps to lump all men into one messy pile.
The scene at the restaurant didn’t get to me. He’s free to do whatever he wants; we’re nothing to each other, just acquaintances. What probably upset me is that I’ll never drive men crazy like that blonde in red. A guy like Danny will never look at me with passionate desire. In that moment, I felt pathetic, like a little gray mouse. I need to do something about this, but I haven’t figured out how to boost my self-esteem yet. Olga’s words, “Rus, you’re so pretty, you’ve got such striking features,” don’t work on me. She just loves me. It’s like a loving hedgehog mom hugging her baby and saying, “my soft little one.”
…Every time I head to university, I’m glad Alina and I go to different schools. I get half a day of peace from her snarky comments and whining. But I’m not particularly close with my classmates either. I struggle to make friends; I have too little in common with them. The girls mostly talk about guys, dates, showing off gifts from their boyfriends or bragging about wild nights out. I’m completely out of my depth in that topic. I’m hopelessly behind; I don’t even know how to kiss. So, yeah, it’s all a mess, left to drift on its own. I’m not about to chase after guys like Alina does, but for some reason, they’re not exactly lining up for me either. “Blunt country bumpkin,” I think that’s what Alina called me. I don’t know how to flirt, bat my eyelashes, or sway my hips, and I’m not planning to learn that stuff on purpose. Why can’t someone love me for who I am?
— Did you hear we’ve got a new professor for innovative technologies? — Tamila whispers. — Our advisor said we’ll be floored when we see them.
— What happened to old fart Pavlush? Sent him off to write memoirs for dummies? — Sasha quips, scrolling through something on his phone. — I’m betting the new prof is a sexy brunette with a D-cup.
I’m half-listening to them, doodling in my notebook. I’ve got caricatures of every classmate, even front and back views of the girls.
— Oh my Gooood… — Viola suddenly moans. — Does anyone have a sedative? Or a bib? I’m about to drool all over the place! What a man. I don’t care what you all think, he’s mine. Can I sign up for private lessons with him?
A wave of excited whispers, gasps, and giggles ripples through the room. I’m in no rush to look up, trying to finish my sketch.
But when I hear his voice, I freeze. Am I cursed or something?
— Everyone got their thoughts together? Let’s start with this: put your phones away. I’m warning you now—I’m a real pain. If I catch anyone not listening, you’ll be chasing me down for your grade books. We’ll be together until the end of this semester, four hours a week. I’m not a professor, I’ll say that upfront. You won’t find me in the dean’s office. Innovative technologies are my bread and butter, my passion, my element, my business. It keeps me grounded and lets me feel free. I was invited to share my knowledge with students, to break down the simple and obvious for you. I’ve never worked with students before, so I got curious and agreed. Though, I’m lying—I can’t stand any of you. I just couldn’t say no to a good friend, — his joke instantly gets a laugh. I’m the only one not laughing.
I keep staring at him, jaw practically on the floor.
— My name’s Danny Olshansky. I’m not much older than you, so just call me Dan. Every time you say ‘Danny Vladyslavovych,’ you’re wasting precious seconds of your life. Let’s keep it simple. I’ll get to know each of you as we go. Sound good? — And then his ash-gray gaze lands on me.
Did he know I study here? Is he as surprised as I am? Will he pretend we’re strangers or act like he doesn’t see me?
— And I’ll ask someone to put away their sketchbook. Hey, Ruslana. No, let’s do this differently—bring it up here. I want you listening to me, not doodling extra abs on my stomach.
…Why did he do that? Damn it, I wish he’d just pretended I’m invisible. Instead, he humiliated me. Now the whole class knows we’re acquainted, and the girls will hound me with questions about this insanely attractive young professor, about whom I essentially know nothing.
Spots dance before my eyes. I’m furious. At him. Because now everyone’s staring at me, and because I’ll have to go up to him to get my notebook back. I’m mad at myself too. I’m blushing like a schoolgirl. I don’t want him to rattle me. Everything was so calm before he showed up. I’d even gotten used to that pest Alina. And now this!
I don’t want to listen to him, but I have to. I don’t want to look at him, but my eyes keep drifting his way. He has a knack for explaining complex things in a captivating way, choosing the right words, sparking interest, making the topic accessible. He’s even impressed the guys in our class with his sharp knowledge, though Sasha Voznyuk used to think he was the smartest on the course. And since Danny effortlessly weaves charming smiles into his lecture, the entire female half of the room can’t take their eyes off him, sighing dreamily. Especially when he takes off his trendy jacket, and the muscles under his shirt become even more noticeable. Where do such gorgeous men come from? What kind of injustice is this? A little more time around Danny, and I’ll start agreeing with my old neighbor Baba Nina that handsome men are evil straight out of hell.
But damn, he’s so smart! And that just makes his appeal more tangible, magnetic, and dangerous. Lucky for him, Alina isn’t here.
— Now you can ask questions, — Danny scans the room with an attentive look.
Oh, that was your mistake, smart guy. The predators are already licking their lips in anticipation. And the questions definitely won’t be on topic.
— Can we know if your heart’s taken? — Viola blurts out. She’s a girl with no filter; she’s capable of saying much worse.
— As far as I can tell, it’s busy pumping blood right now, so it’s occupied, — Danny dodges smoothly. — To preempt other silly questions like this, I’ll answer now. I’m not looking for a life partner or romantic flings at the moment. Yes, I like women. I enjoy talking to them and having sex with them, but you girls can only count on friendship with me. You’ll have plenty of time to get your hearts broken later—focus on studying for now. Any questions about the lecture? Guys, why so quiet?
Someone asks him about critical thinking technology and project-based learning, but I’m not listening. I’m, to put it mildly, thrown off. So that’s how it is. He’s only offering friendship. Third-year girls are too green, flighty, and foolish for him. Meanwhile, Alina’s already picked out names for their future kids with Danny. I need to find a way to hint that she should reel in her expectations.
— Psst, psst, Ruslana, — Tamila hisses at me. — Don’t bolt right after class. We need to have a little chat.
Who would’ve guessed! But Mr. Charmer made it clear that twenty-two-year-old ladies aren’t mature enough for serious relationships. Too bad I can’t escape through the window—third floor and all.
I wait until everyone leaves the classroom before getting up.
— Give me back my notebook, Danny Vladyslavovych, — I deliberately use his full name. Two whole seconds of my life wasted.
— We’re on formal terms now? — Irony tangles in his thick lashes, and that gray gaze is so sincere, so open… damn it, just for friendship.
— Isn’t that normal for a student and a professor? Or not? You shouldn’t have shown everyone we know each other. That was unprofessional of you, Danny Vladyslavovych, — I try to yank my cursed notebook from under his hand, but he’s pressing down too hard.
— Why are you so prickly?
Because it drives me crazy that your scent is making me lose my mind!
— It’s my spice. All the women who intrigue you have their little quirks, but I’ve got peppercorns. This is only the second time we’ve met, so don’t jump to conclusions. Give me my notebook! — I shoot him an angry glare.
And he smiles! What nerve! What kind of game is this? I don’t get it!
— Olga said you’ve retreated into a cocoon, don’t make friends, don’t go to parties, and push people away. But one comment from me changed that. Now you’ve got something to talk about with your classmates. Me.
— Wow! You discuss my behavior with my aunt? — I straighten up sharply, blinking in shock. — I don’t need therapy from some guru mentor, even if you’re three times as smart. It’s too much of an honor to talk about you! Keep the notebook as a gift! — I sling my silver backpack over my shoulder and bolt for the door.
— Ruslana!
But I’m not looking back! Not a chance! Go mentor someone else! I’ll get home and give Olga a piece of my mind!
— Stop! — Viola grabs my arm. — Did he bite you in there or something?
— If you think I know anything about the woman-loving, tech-savvy guy, you’re wrong. Danny’s just acquainted with my family! — I huff, nerves frayed.
— That’s clearly not enough. I love digging for the truth, sniffing out secrets, and knowing everything about guys who interest me, — Viola narrows her eyes. — And I’ll find out. I’ve got plenty of connections in this city.
— Viola, you definitely picked the wrong major. You shouldn’t be a chemist; you should be a detective, — Tamila giggles.
— Caricaturist, you’re on our team, — Viola decisively links her arm through mine. — First, because he obviously gets under your skin. Second, hot guys always have soul-shattering secrets, and juicy details are interesting to everyone.
— I’m not interested in digging through someone else’s dirty laundry, — the popular girls are inviting me into their clique, and I’m not even appreciating Danny’s efforts.
— That’s what you say now. But wait until I find something to latch onto—you’ll change your mind, — Viola tosses her hair back and straightens her shoulders. — Perfect. I love innovative technologies. Let’s get to work on them!
The girls float off to their cars while I head to the trolleybus stop, psyching myself up for a straight talk with Olga.
But when I see her staring thoughtfully out her bedroom window, I cool off a bit. And when she looks into my eyes, I realize she already knows everything. Do they talk to Danny that often? …That’s weird.
— I don’t like it when people talk about me behind my back. Why are you discussing me with him? You don’t need to worry about me. You’re not my mom; I can handle myself, — I can be harsh sometimes, cutting with my words. Olga presses her lips together, and guilt instantly stabs me in the gut.
— Sorry. If I’m causing too much trouble, I can move back to the dorm. But I’m against you discussing me with my professor, even if he’s your friend’s son. How old is he?
— Danny? …Twenty-nine. You’re so much like your mother. Vera could be blunt and tough too. Ruslana, I only want what’s best for you, but you’re such a prickly, proud girl, — Olga sighs, stepping closer to hug me.
— Where’d you get that pendant? — I nod at the crescent-shaped necklace. I’ve noticed she often touches it, especially when she’s sad.
— It was a gift, — she touches it again with a wistful smile. — From someone very special to me.
Someone special? I don’t want to think about it, but I do anyway. Isn’t it suspicious that I saw the same crescent as a tattoo on Danny’s wrist today?
— Here comes Alina, — Olga perks up. — I’ll feed you two now. Wash your hands!
— In a month, we’ve got a huge event—the university’s founding anniversary. They’re throwing an autumn ball for the jubilee, — Alina chatters excitedly, plopping down at the table. — We can invite parents, girls can bring their boyfriends, and guys their girlfriends. Mom, do you think if I invite Danny, he’ll say yes?
Ugh, I wish I could’ve seen Olga’s expression, but she’s facing away from us. Suddenly, I’m itching to bring Alina back down to earth.
— No, he won’t. He said he’s not looking for a relationship.
— When did he say that to you? — Alina gears up for a fight.
— While your fancy university is prepping for ballroom dances, mine is hiring young professors. Danny said it today. He drew a clear line so the girls in my class wouldn’t drool over him. He’s teaching us innovative technologies this semester. Just don’t faint. I got the sense he was hinting he’s into experienced women, not dreamy girls. What do you think, Ol, am I right?
Something flickers in her gaze. My intuition tells me I’ve hit a sensitive spot. Tomorrow, I’ll tell Viola I’m ready to get closer to their group.
— Don’t call me aunt. You know it bugs me.
It’s clear Olga doesn’t want to answer the question. Her mood has soured, so it’s time to drop the Olshansky topic.
The doorbell rings, and I’m the first to get up to answer it.
— Probably the water delivery. Money’s on the side table, — Olga calls after me.
I open the door and freeze. I don’t even breathe; my breath catches. Danny hands me my notebook across the threshold.
— Just for a second. Thought you might need this to calm your nerves! — His ash-gray eyes are narrowed in irritation.
I clumsily grab the notebook, and a bookmark slips out. On the back, there’s a phone number… written in someone else’s handwriting.
— I’m far from a guru, but sometimes it’s good for prickly people to talk, — he turns and jogs down the stairs.