“How much longer are they gonna drag this out?” Sergei muttered, leaning back in his chair and sipping his hot coffee.
“A month, maybe two. Until the creditors figure out what a mess they’ve sunk their money into. Then, you’ll see, they’ll come crawling back,” Yan sighed, staring out the window of the café where the two friends had been having Monday dinners for the past ten years. These meetups had long become a habit. And habits? Yan wasn’t good at changing them. You could even say he downright hated change.
Bowling, pool, clubs—lately, all of it had been too exhausting, especially with the workload piling up at the office. That’s how it had been ever since his father handed over the business and dumped all the unfinished contracts on his shoulders. Truth be told, Yan was shocked at first, and so was the board of directors at Crystal Inc. But five years of working under his father’s sharp guidance had paid off. Sure, they lost a few old clients, but the company eventually landed enough new deals to stay afloat.
“How are Andrew and Svetlana doing? It’s been a while since I’ve dropped by. Bet they’ve missed me, huh?” Sergei grinned, his eyes following a cute waitress as she passed by.
“Well,” Yan smiled, remembering all the chaos he and Sergei had caused as kids and how much grief they’d given his parents with their antics. “Dad’s got a new obsession—planting a garden. He’s been running around the house, scoping out the perfect spot. Just the other day, he set his sights on Mom’s flowerbed.”
“I can just imagine the earful she gave him,” Sergei laughed, snorting as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
Taking a drag of the toxic smoke, he closed his eyes and settled more comfortably at the table.
“Gotta quit,” Yan said, exhaling a plume of smoke and watching as rain started to drizzle outside, slowly turning into a downpour.
“Yeah, how many times have we tried quitting?” Sergei smirked, reaching for the ashtray—another nice little perk of this place. You could stuff your face and keep puffing on a cigarette without a break. “How’s she doing, anyway? Getting better?”
Two months ago, Yan’s mother had suffered a mini-stroke, which hit the whole family hard. Now, they tried to keep an eye on her at all times, which wasn’t easy since her need to fuss over household chores was practically in her DNA. One minute she’d be stuck at the stove, the next she’d be digging in the dirt, replanting flowers, or—before you knew it—scrubbing the floors. Thankfully, the housekeeper caught her at every turn, earning herself the title of “public enemy number one.”
“She’s doing better. She’s back to nagging Dad every day, barking orders, and planning a trip to a resort,” Yan replied.
“No kidding! Good for her. When’s she going?”
“Oh, come on, you know Mom. She’s been ‘planning’ for two years and still hasn’t gotten around to it.”
“Still, it’s been ages since I’ve visited. Think they’d have me over?” Sergei asked cautiously, nervously tapping his cigarette.
“Why not? Mom’s been asking about you, wondering if you’ve keeled over yet,” Yan chuckled in response. “Swing by on the weekend. We’ve got a big family dinner planned.”
“And Marina? Will she be there?” Sergei swallowed hard, lowering his eyes with a guilty look. He’d never admitted it out loud, but for years, he’d been secretly in love with Yan’s younger sister. Secretly and unrequited. Everyone, of course, pretended not to notice, as if they’d all gone blind—a little unspoken rule no one dared to break.
Marina was a late child, almost ten years younger than Yan, and just a month ago, she’d turned twenty-three. So, the age gap put a serious damper on Sergei’s romantic impulses, though, to be honest, Yan wouldn’t have minded such a match. But, as always, life turned out to be far more complicated than anyone would’ve liked. At sixteen, Marina had managed to fall for a guy older than her, sparking that pure, innocent feeling called love—probably something you only experience at that young age. Amazingly, the guy adored her just as much, and the two eventually got married. But, as life often goes, unlike in fairy tales, their happiness didn’t last. Alex died in a car crash—a drunk driver smashed his car to pieces.
Yan could still remember the raw terror on his sister’s face when she heard the news, the fainting, and the months of endless breakdowns that followed. Sometimes, he felt like she’d never really recovered… like she’d just broken. She hadn’t tried to build any serious relationships since. Now, all she cared about were her “Sunday guys”—men for casual hookups on Sundays, as she’d once put it.
But Sergei wanted so much more.
“Of course! She’ll be happy to see you,” Yan nodded to his friend, secretly hoping he might be the one to mend his little sister’s broken heart.
“You think so?” Sergei’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah,” Yan mumbled under his breath, his gaze fixed on the wall of rain pouring down on the gray city. “Just don’t forget to bring something sweet…”
“Chocolate glazed pastries,” Sergei said quietly, hanging his head. Man, he even remembered her favorite treat.
In moments like these, Yan genuinely felt sorry for Sergei. At least he was still capable of love.
“What’s on your mind?” Sergei asked, studying Yan’s weary face.
“The gifts of life,” Yan replied, taking another drag on his cigarette.
“And what would you want from it?” Sergei winked, nodding toward the cute waitress.
“Hard to say what you want when you’ve already got everything,” Yan smiled tiredly at his friend, stubbing out his cigarette. “Time to head home.”
“You go ahead. I’ll hang out here a bit longer,” Sergei drawled, slyly glancing at the new waitress. “Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“Just make sure you don’t catch something nasty,” Yan grinned, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and reaching for his briefcase. “See you Sunday at eight. Try not to be late—spare Mom’s nerves.”
“I’ll try,” Sergei nodded, giving a mock salute.
The rain poured down in buckets, shrouding the city from prying eyes. Opening his umbrella, Yan strode toward the nearest taxi on the corner, eager to get home and crash on his favorite couch as soon as possible.
He gave the driver his address, handing over a large bill, and deliberately hopped into the back seat of the slightly beat-up sedan, hoping to avoid any small talk. The driver stayed silent the whole way, showing remarkable understanding and restraint, leaving Yan free to let his thoughts and imagination wander.
Somewhere between memories of signed contracts and the mountain of paperwork waiting at home, his wandering gaze caught a photo near the steering wheel—a small charm displaying the driver’s cherished family. A plump, sweet-looking woman hugged two curly-haired twins… Relationships. That’s what makes people happy—or destroys them. For some reason, Yan didn’t want to find out what it felt like to love. Too burdensome, too messy. Too risky.
Being alone was so much easier… easier to have connections that didn’t obligate you to anything, flings that wouldn’t last more than a few nights, affairs where no one owed anyone anything. That was his lifestyle. Had been, and would be. At least for a long while.
“I’ve changed my mind. Turn around, we’re heading the other way.”
“You think you can just show up and take whatever you want whenever it suits you?” Kira snapped, wrapping herself in a sheet and gliding gracefully toward the open window. Yan didn’t immediately catch the shift in her mood.
The faint moonlight filtering through the clouds outlined the silhouette of a stunning, rare beauty. An expensive woman. Her slender fingers pulled out a cigarette, and a tiny flame lit up the darkness, illuminating the sharp, cold features of her face.
“Yeah, I do,” Yan said smugly, sprawled out on the bed, admiring the gorgeous creature. “It never bothered you before.”
“Before, I was an idiot,” Kira rasped, taking a drag of smoke.
“I think I’ve been pretty generous with you, don’t you? You get everything a woman could want.”
“Everything except the one thing I actually want,” she shot back, her voice trembling.
“Kira, this is a broken record. We’ve already talked about this…”
“I know!” she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence and glaring at his stern face. Her slightly shaky fingers took another drag. “What am I to you?”
“Sorry, but I’m tired of this. I thought you understood. I’ve already told you I’m not looking for anything serious. You were fine with how things were. What’s changed all of a sudden?” he asked in a cold tone, trying to head off the brewing tantrum.
“Everything’s changed,” she barked, fixing her disheveled hair.
“Let me guess, ‘baby boy’ finally popped the question?” Yan sneered, getting up and pulling on his pants. For some reason, he wanted to hurt her more, feeling her slowly slipping through his fingers. Or maybe it was just plain jealousy?
No. Ridiculous.
“Yes, he did! Unlike you, he’s got the guts to take that step!”
“Happy for him,” Yan tossed back, buttoning his shirt and trying not to look her way.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Kira asked in a quiet, even voice, nervously clutching her cigarette.
“I hope you’ll be happy together,” he replied, picking up his scattered things and heading for the door. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”
Yan slowly closed the door behind him, trying to ignore the soft sobs of the upset woman.
It kept happening, over and over. He’d always been upfront about his intentions. Yet every woman thought she’d be the one—the one to change him, the one he wouldn’t want to leave. Too cocky and foolish on their part. He sighed heavily and decided: no more long-term flings. Just one night. His sister was right; this was too draining and painful for everyone. From now on, only “Sunday women.”
Turning the key, he opened the door to his apartment, a place that had become a true sanctuary for his soul, a place untainted by any woman, by anyone. A place where he could rest and unwind from everything and everyone. His home.
He needed time to calm down, to get everything back in order. His conscience gnawed at him after what had happened, and, grabbing a bottle of strong liquor from the bar, Yan collapsed onto the couch, savoring the burning taste and the way his thoughts slowly drifted into oblivion.
* * *
Tugging off his hated tie and leaning back in his chair, Yan emerged from the chaos of paperwork that had been suffocating him since morning. The only relief was the perky backside of his secretary, Olga, who strutted past every half hour, swaying in a way that would make anyone on the sidewalk jealous.
“Coffee, Yan Andreevich,” the young girl sang in an angelic voice, setting a cup of hot, bitter brew beside him.
“You’re my little lifesaver,” he smiled at the latest secretary—they seemed to change every month—trying not to let his eyes wander to her deep neckline. And, damn it, that was harder than it should’ve been.
Her throaty laugh was a blatant response, as were the sparks practically shooting from her eyes. Yan smirked, knowing full well he’d be getting some action tonight…
Later that evening, stepping out of the only girl he’d ever truly loved—his recently bought black BMW—he stretched his shoulders, took a deep breath of fresh air, and headed home.
“Good evening,” the gray-haired concierge greeted with a friendly smile, letting another resident into the building’s lobby. “Hope you didn’t get too wet, sir?”
“Just a little. The weather’s not exactly sweet today, but I’m not made of sugar either,” Yan nodded to the pleasant middle-aged man and darted toward the elevator.
Reaching the eighth floor, Yan nearly tripped over a cat sprawled out in the middle of the hallway. A skinny, wet creature curled up in a ball. It lazily lifted its head, looking at him with pitiful eyes, and let out a weak meow. Yan frowned, puzzled about where a cat could’ve even come from. None of his neighbors kept pets, especially not scruffy ones like this. The cat slowly stood, its shaky legs carrying it straight to the door of his apartment. Did this mangy thing have psychic powers or something?
Smiling faintly, Yan bent down to the pathetic little creature and reached out, stroking its soft face.
“Well, at least you could’ve been a purebred or something!” he grumbled, petting the gray fur and listening to the deep purring. Shrugging off his reservations, he picked up the animal, pressing its trembling body to his chest, and carried it inside. “Lucky you, fuzzy. You’re the first to cross this threshold.”
The cat let out a faint meow, resting its head on his hands and closing its eyes. Whether it was exhausted or just loved water, the first bath went surprisingly well. Skinny and wet, it looked like a kitten. Wrapping the creature in a towel, Yan pulled some leftover milk from the fridge, warmed it up a bit, and—still holding the cat since it was shivering so much—brought the saucer to its nose, nudging its face toward it. A quiet, steady lapping continued until the milk was gone.
“That’s enough for now,” Yan nodded, bundling the cat in an old blanket and settling it into a chair to warm up. In thanks, a rough tongue licked his finger, and with a faint yawn, the cat started snoring like a little hedgehog. Yan smiled, asking himself a perfectly reasonable question: what the heck was he supposed to feed a cat?
Throwing on a jacket and grabbing his car keys, he headed to the nearest supermarket. Surely, they’d have plenty of Whiskas and KitKat, the brands he’d seen advertised so often on TV. He never thought he’d be running out in the rain to buy cat food.
The wipers quickly swept streams of water across the windshield, giving him a few seconds to glimpse the traffic jam clogging the road. After twenty minutes of waiting in the gridlock, his nerves started to fray, and his fingers tapped a frantic rhythm on the leather steering wheel, matching his loud, frustrated huffs.
Only some strange sense of duty and pity kept Yan from saying screw it and turning back. So, he made it to the supermarket in the worst possible mood. To his great annoyance—and the store manager’s relief—he couldn’t even take out his frustration by slamming the door. They’d installed sliding ones, the jerks.
Soaked and pissed, Yan stormed into the store, grabbing the nearest shopping basket and heading straight for the pet food aisle, trying not to forget a carton of milk. When a girl at the counter offered a “good evening” and a sweet smile, he muttered something incoherent, ignoring her flirty eyes. He’d regret that later, remembering his father’s words: “It’s not good to waste opportunities.” The last of his patience was left among the shelves of canned goods, where dozens of brands offered various meats with all sorts of additives, flavors, and smells. So, grumbling and pulling his scattered thoughts together, he decided to grab a few different cans at random—let the cat choose. He figured he might as well throw the little guy a feast to celebrate moving in.
Stuffing the cans and milk into a bag and still ignoring the wary glances from the cashiers who eyed his sour expression, Yan headed home.
The rain kept pouring, not letting up for a second. Once again regretting the umbrella he’d left at home, he set the groceries on the car seat and quickly jumped into the driver’s side. The road back was much clearer, no traffic jams or chaos, so, picking up speed, he turned on some music and thanked the heavens for small mercies. At that moment, his carefree attitude dictated his fate, which came crashing down with a dull thud against the bumper of his car on the last turn near his building’s parking lot. The slick road, poor visibility, and his own distraction didn’t bode well for what came next.
The piercing screech of tires on asphalt announced the abrupt, unceremonious stop of the metal beast as it collided with a fleeting figure. Only years of honed reflexes saved the pedestrian wandering across the road. At the last second, Yan swerved the wheel and slammed on the brakes, still clipping the person. Painfully hitting his head on the steering wheel, he froze in horror for a moment before lifting his eyes and bolting out of the car he’d loved with all his soul just a minute ago. Fear weakened his legs as he rounded the hood and saw a fragile figure sprawled on the ground, quietly emitting sounds like moans.
“God, help me,” Yan muttered, practically flying to the girl, who squinted and forced herself to sit up with sheer willpower. Supporting her head, he held her thin shoulders. “Thank God, you’re alive…”