The room fell silent. Dragan stared, stunned. The boy could speak. And hear.
Anna was just as shocked—though for an entirely different reason.
He's actually kind of rude, she thought. Despite his delicate, elegant appearance, he's got a sharp tongue.
Before she could say something—something 'polite,' of course—her grandfather threw his hands in the air and let out a delighted shout.
"Hallelujah! Oh, thank goodness!"
The young man raised an eyebrow.
Hallelujah? he thought. Right. I keep forgetting what kind of country this is… Death must be making me more forgetful.
"Say, boy…" Dragan was clearly brimming with questions now.
What does this gluttonous old man want now?
"Yes?" the boy replied.
"Why didn't you ever speak to me? I tried to talk to you so many times. You never even looked at me. And now, all of a sudden, you're chatting like nothing happened!"
The young man gave him a look of disbelief. "Wait… You're serious?"
Dragan nodded eagerly, like a child waiting for a story.
This fucking animal, the boy thought. He really is as thick as he looks.
With a sigh, the young man rubbed his temple. "Look… When I found out someone was going to be sharing this room with me, I didn't plan on ignoring them. But then you walked in and started talking—and I decided I wanted nothing to do with you."
Anna jumped in. "Wait, what? Was he really that annoying? That's not a reason to ignore someone. Especially your elders."
The young man glanced at her with a complicated expression she couldn't read.
He sighed again.
"Aunty…"
Her eye twitched.
Aunty?! What the hell—I'm barely a few years older than you!
Oblivious to her reaction, he went on. "You know your father the best, right? So you must know what kind of questions he asks."
Anna blinked. "My… father?"
'Oh no,' Dragan thought, suddenly remembering every inappropriate thing he'd ever said in front of the boy. He brought a trembling finger to his lips, silently begging the boy to stay quiet.
But it was too late.
The young man buried his head between his knees, trying not to burst out laughing.
Finally, in a muffled voice, he said, "Alright, alright… I'll answer."
Dragan's heart nearly stopped.
"First of all," the boy began, still hiding his face, "every time that pretty nurse leaves the room, your dear grandfather watches her like a hawk. Then he mutters the filthiest things about her body. I won't repeat the exact words—I have some standards."
Dragan sank lower in his bed, face flushed with horror.
"And then the questions…" the boy continued, pausing for effect. "They're even worse."
He cleared his throat, now mimicking Dragan's voice:
'Hey boy, wouldn't you love to climb all over that nurse like a monkey in a tree? No? Well, I would, that's for sure.'
'You should talk more, boy—get yourself a girlfriend. When I was your age, the ladies couldn't get enough of me. I finally settled down with my wife, and let me tell you, our first night together lasted two full days!'
"And the grand finale…" he said, drawing out the pause. "'How many times do you, you know… handle things yourself? I go seven, eight times a day, easy. Took a while to build up that kind of endurance. Started late though, around twelve or thirteen maybe…'"
The room went dead silent.
Anna looked like her soul had left her body.
A nurse eventually knocked to say visiting hours were over. Anna left without a word.
---
Back home, Anna was filling the tub, trying to scrub away the sweat—and the lingering disgust.
"If only I could wash away the shame," she muttered. "Poor guy… Even I wouldn't talk to Grandpa if he said that kind of stuff to me."
As she stepped into the bath, she frowned. "Damn it. I forgot to ask his name. I'll do it tomorrow."
---
Later that night, in the hospital room, Dragan stirred as the young man sealed an envelope.
"What are you doing, boy?"
The young man looked up, unbothered. "Ah… nothing. Say, what's your name again?"
Dragan looked puzzled, then smiled. "Well, well… is it snowing outside? You're finally talking to me. My name's Dragan."
The boy gave a small chuckle. "Figures. You sound like a Slavic war story."
He held up the envelope.
"Alright, Dragan, I need a favor."
Dragan eyed him. "You're not planning to flirt with my granddaughter, are you?"
The boy burst out laughing. "No, nothing like that."
"Well then," Dragan said, intrigued. "What's the favor?"
"Just give this envelope to Miss Anna when she visits tomorrow. Don't open it."
Dragan hesitated. "Why can't you give it to her yourself? Are you leaving?"
The boy nodded. "Yeah. I won't be in this room after tonight."
Dragan wanted to ask more, but the boy had already turned to face the window.
"Goodnight, Dragan."
"Hey, kid?" Dragan whispered, but got no reply.
'Damn it. I didn't even ask for his name.'
He sighed. 'I'll ask him tomorrow before he leaves.'
But Dragan would never hear the young man's voice again. His name would remain a mystery.
---
The sun lit up the city as Anna made her way to the hospital. She told herself she was going to see her grandfather—but that wasn't entirely true. She was curious about his roommate, too.
'Today, I'm going to learn his name. And he's going to stop calling me auntie.'
But something felt off when she stepped inside.
The normally cheerful nurse looked pale and hollow, as if she'd seen something she couldn't forget. Her hands trembled slightly as she led Anna to the room.
Anna noticed the nurse glance at the door with glassy eyes.
'What's going on?'
She entered.
Dragan was lying in bed, staring at the window. The other bed—empty.
Her chest tightened.
"Hey, Grandpa… is everything okay?"
He didn't look at her.
"I know you liked your roommate, but you two barely talked. I don't get why you're so down."
Dragan shook his head.
"He passed away," he said quietly.
Anna stood still.
"…What?"
"He died," Dragan repeated, meeting her eyes. "Heart condition, apparently. Fragile body. He must've struggled with it his whole life. Last night, it gave out while he slept."
Everything suddenly made sense. The nurse's expression. The silence in the hallway. The heavy feeling in the air.
Dragan reached under his pillow and pulled out an envelope.
"He left this for you. Told me not to read it before giving it to you."
Anna stared at it. Her fingers hovered over the paper, but her gaze remained on her grandfather.
He looked shaken. Old. More fragile than usual.
"I just hope he's at peace now," Dragan said. "He was young. People like him should be looking toward the future… not people like me, clinging to the past."
"Don't say that," Anna said, her voice tight. "You still have people who need you. I need you."
Dragan smiled faintly. "Maybe someone was waiting for him too. I wouldn't know. No one ever came to visit."
After a long pause, he added, "When I woke up and saw him… he looked peaceful. Like he was just sleeping. But he had this little smile on his face—mischievous, almost. I didn't know it then, but he'd been gone for hours."
Dragan fell silent, his gaze drifting back to the window, as if the telling had taken the last bit of strength he had. Anna sat quietly, the envelope resting in her lap. She didn't open it right away.
Her thoughts wandered to the boy—the one who had shared the room just a day ago. She had only heard his voice once, soft and brief. That was all, but now it echoed with strange clarity in her mind. It was hard to believe someone could disappear so quickly, so quietly. One moment, he had been there. The next, only silence remained.
She looked toward the empty side of the room. The curtain that had once separated them hung still. The absence felt too clean, too absolute, like he'd been erased rather than gone.
Anna exhaled slowly and lowered her gaze to the envelope. Whatever it contained, it suddenly felt heavier.
With careful fingers, she began to open it.
Inside was a small folded note—no name, no explanation—just a single line scrawled in uneven handwriting:
**"To the incredibly uninteresting and painfully plain Miss Anna."**
She scowled.
Still, the message continued:
**"This is the first and last act of generosity you'll ever get from me. So take it, please."**
A cold feeling crept into her chest.
She sat beside her grandfather, hands trembling, and unfolded the second page.
---
"I hope this letter reaches you, though I doubt I'll be around to see it happen.
I know we never really spoke, and you don't know my name (I didn't catch yours either until your grandfather said it), but I wanted to leave something behind—something small.
You probably don't remember me as anything more than the boy by the window. But even from across the room, I noticed you. You had that kind of presence. Loud thoughts, heavy heart, strong will. A bit of fire behind the eyes. It was nice.
I saw the way you looked at your grandfather. How much you care. That kind of love isn't common. He's lucky.
I won't bore you with the details about why I was here or what happens next.
Just know that I didn't want to go without saying… thank you.
For the pie (yes, I saw you bring it), for the noise you brought into the room, and for looking at me like I was human—even if just for a second.
That might not mean much to you.
But it meant something to me.
Take care of yourself. And take care of the old man.
He talks too much, but I think he means well.
Sincerely,
The Rude Bastard by the Window"