How I love these long, sometimes even nocturnal conversations in the kitchen by the window: the arrival of dawn, sleepy workers heading to their jobs, children noisily flying off to school with satchels on their backs. I love to feel that we also work, although none of them, seeing us chatting over a bottle of wine, would ever believe it.

  The kitchen table is stained with wine. Alexander’s words end with a kind of hum, as if he is pressing the pedal of his voice, thereby giving birth to an echo.

  An atmosphere of freedom and relaxation surrounds Alexander when he laughs and shakes his head in a bear-like manner. The young man pronounces the simple word 'good' in such a way that the entire room begins to light up. He is completely given over to the present moment, taking everything that is offered.

  Then Alexander calls a taxi and sees me home, but tries to hold me back, like a priest wishing to give a blessing. His sad eyes seem to apologize for some rudeness or something extra blurted out unintentionally; however, he does not realize that I am a strong person.

  Once, towards evening, Alexander came to my house.

  'I received a message from Anzhelica today,' he said animatedly and began to read it aloud: 'I miss you... We should see each other soon.' Then he grew angry.

  'Why are you angry?' I asked him.

  'I don't want Anzhelica to come,' he replied.

  'And I, Alexander, fear that she will come and put an end to our friendship.'

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  'Do not give in to her,' he said. 'Keep your magnificent common sense; be stricter with her.

  The same could be said to you. Only your wisdom brings no benefit.’

  ‘This time, everything will be different. Know that you deserve more than Anzhelica. And I will not put on an act when she returns. She wants to be the one suffering. Please... you will see, I am different. I do not like it when Angelica takes the upper hand over me. It humiliates me.’

  He showed me another side of himself. At times, he looks like a reckless thirty-year-old fellow, and then, conversely, like a serious professor in glasses - a man known neither to Anzhelica nor to Yuri.

  Sometimes, when Alexander becomes like a gnome, I look at him and see a child: impulsive, restless, mischievous, and it makes me smile.

  Having said goodbye to him after those magnificent, exhausting conversations, I slipped into the bedroom and prepared for bed.

  The first thing that drew my attention was the frowning face of Anzhelica in the frame of that very portrait, which I had painted for Alexander from a small photograph from his wallet.

  But for some reason, he refused to take the portrait, which I called 'Anzhelica’s Riddle, or The Unread Book,' citing the fact that she had been irritating him very much lately.

  So the moment has come when I again relive my life, relive it like a dream, like a myth, like an endless story.

  But why am I not satisfied with my successes? It is because from the very beginning, my true desire was to live among pleasures, luxury, and flattery - to travel and fall into adventures.

  Tonight saw a dream: being beautifully dressed in a huge hall. There was a king, wanting to dance; he was in love and whispered tender words in my ear. Very happy, I laughed and even danced alone, so that everyone could see how good and beautiful such dancing could be.

  Then came the ride home in a carriage, where the magnificent wide dress hardly fit. A terrible downpour began. Raindrops seeped inside, soaking the dress. The carriage moved slower and slower, eventually floating on the water. I wanted to go back to the castle, although having nothing against the water itself.

  In the morning, after thinking over the dream, I realized that I am not yet ready for changes.