It all started on a sunny Monday morning. The light came through the gap in the curtain with an annoying insistence, as if to remind me that the weekend was officially over. The alarm clock had already gone off, but I was in the denial phase, when you try to convince your body that you still have five minutes left - even though you know that fifteen minutes have already passed.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, still mentally grumbling about the stupidity of the world, responsibilities and, above all, people who talk before nine in the morning. I brushed my teeth sulkily, staring at my reflection with the expression of someone who has been forced into existence. My hair was a mess, my face bore marks from the pillow and the only thing that moved with any enthusiasm was the foam from the toothpaste.
Then I heard three dry knocks on the apartment door.
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Because there's nothing like unexpected visitors to make the morning even more perfect.
"Well, well... speak of demons and they appear," I muttered to myself, spitting the foam into the sink.
I looked in the mirror, trying to convince myself that ignoring the visit was a valid option. It wasn't. I'd been brought up with minimal manners, unfortunately. Still, showing up at someone's house at seven in the morning on a Monday bordered on cruelty. I swallowed my irritation, adjusted my expression to something between 'forced good humor' and 'feigned tolerance', and went to the door.
I looked through the peephole. And there she was: smiling, rested, practically glowing with that optimism that can only come from someone who has slept too well - and who clearly didn't understand the concept of 'personal space before coffee'.
I opened the door with a slowness that I hoped was enough to convey my discouragement.
"Hi, how are you?" she asked, with an enthusiasm that offended me a little.
"I don't think I'm dead yet," I replied, my voice slurred.
She laughed, as if my grumpiness was pure charm.
"Maybe you could open it for good and let some poor starving girl in?"
I rolled my eyes, tired of that conversation I already knew by heart.
"You could have eaten at home, you know?" I said, trying to sound indifferent, but deep down a little annoyed that she was there.
She replied with a pout so perfect that it almost caught me off guard. I confess that this gesture had an unexpected effect on me, as if, for an instant, I forgot the boredom of her loneliness and my own irritation.
"I could... but it's so boring being alone." She said, making a little quip that, I confess, had some effectiveness.
I smiled sarcastically.
"Of course. And I'm so fascinating and cheerful that you couldn't resist the temptation to see me grumpy and unkempt," I replied, with a debauched tone, as I fixed my messy hair, trying to disguise the fact that, deep down, I enjoyed the company.
"Almost." She smiled, as if the comment had been a compliment in disguise. And perhaps it was. The fact was that, despite everything, she was a good cook.
I sighed with resignation. Since she was there and I had absolutely nothing edible in the fridge, I decided to make a deal.
"Then you owe me breakfast," I said, finally making room for her to enter.
"Exploitation of women's labor!" she exclaimed theatrically.
"Trespassing?" I retorted, not as inspired as I would have liked, but still trying to keep my dignity intact.
She gave an offended 'humpf!' but went in anyway, heading for the kitchen as if she owned the place.
And there I was, seven in the morning on a Monday, about to accept breakfast from a smiling invader. Such is life.
***
As she stirred the pan, preparing breakfast, I stood there, watching more than I should have. Why does she always appear here, out of nowhere, as if it were the most natural thing in the world? Without warning, for no apparent reason - just because she wants to. She has a boyfriend, or at least something close to one. I've never seen her with him, and honestly, that doesn't tell me much. There are so many things about her that I don't even notice, that escape my gaze.
Even wearing that stiff school uniform, which must have been designed to hide any trace of individuality, the curves of her body slipped out of the fabric as if they had a mind of their own. It was almost hypnotic, and I found myself admiring it once again, trying to pretend I wasn't paying attention, as if the gaze could simply be turned off.
"What are you looking at, Remy?" her voice drew me back, half amused, half accusatory.
I remembered that my name is Artem, but to her, it seems I'll always be 'Remy'. Ignoring my real name didn't bother me; in fact, it made everything more interesting. It was a way of saying that, between us, nothing was totally serious - at least, not on the surface. And there she was, absolute master of the kitchen, with that smile that mixed defiance and affection.
"On your elastic... uh-uh, hairdo," I replied, trying to sound provocative.
"Turn your devouring gaze away from my... hairstyle and focus all your attention on the plate in front of you." she retorted, with that smile that clearly said 'I'm better than you at this'.
'Devouring?' Oh, don't kid yourself, Artem. It was just an appraising, even critical look, nothing to justify a dramatic metaphor.
The food she prepared was simply divine. That mixture of aromas and colors on the table left me speechless - especially since I wasn't the one who cooked it. I don't know how she does it, but she manages to turn something simple into a feast worthy of royalty.
***
Later, we headed off to school. If anyone saw us walking side by side, they'd probably think we were a couple. The kind of couple who have known each other for so long that they've become part of each other's routine. And I didn't care what anyone thought.
We met when we were still children, in second grade. It was in a kendo class that our paths crossed for the first time, in that mixture of blows, falls and laughter. Then I moved away, and the distance did its job. But about two months ago, chance - or fate, if you're into that sort of thing - brought her back close, literally living in the same building as me. A tall building, almost a tower, full of people and stories, where strange miracles seem to happen.
"Listen, Mika, your boyfriend..." I began, a little suspiciously, trying to bring up the subject.
"Oh, is anyone interested in my personal life?" She suddenly interrupted me, a mischievous smile opening up on her lips, accompanied by that look that always left me in doubt - did she mean it or was she just playing with me? It was impossible to know for sure, and this uncertainty only increased the fascination I felt for her.
"What if he's some kind of bully?" I insisted, joking but with a slight tone of concern. "He'll see us together and kill me on the street corner."
"I doubt it." she laughed, confidently. "You're too strong for that."
It's funny, you know? A girl thinking you're strong. It's one of life's little pleasures. Only, suddenly, that laugh escaped her face - a laugh that was half mysterious, half provocative.
"And who is he?" I asked, arching my eyebrow curiously, trying to decipher that mischievous smile and understand if there was something more behind her provocation. My gaze kept searching for any clue in the mischievous glint in her eyes.
"I won't tell." she replied, purposely closing her face, feigning a mystery that only increased my curiosity.
Okay, I'm not interested. Not at all. Absolutely nothing about it appeals to me - not a bit, not a moment. I even tried to find something worthwhile, but I couldn't. I just don't care, period.
"Oh, you're about to explode with curiosity, are you?" she teased, winking at me.
"Yes, it'll be on your conscience," I warned. "And you'll have to deal with the bits of my sense of self-worth sprinkled around."
Laughing at our conversation, we walked through the gate and into the schoolyard. But just then, something in the air changed. The silence was too strange. As if an invisible presence was watching us from above, judging our every move.
Mika suddenly squeezed my hand, looking up with wide eyes. I followed her gaze. The sun, shining brightly, almost blinded us. When I rubbed my eyes, I could make out the ivy-covered walls of a roofless hall full of schoolchildren. And then I noticed: there were two suns in the sky.
"OK..." I whispered, with a strange chill running down my spine.