When the car turned off the highway onto the familiar parking lot, my chest tightened at the sight of the familiar pizzeria window. The very one where Nik had taken me on our first date. Diana fluttered out of the car with such ease, while I barely managed to unbuckle my seatbelt. I reached for the car door handle and noticed my fingers trembling. Dark memories surged, as if it had all happened yesterday, and regrets froze in my mind, making my head feel heavy. Gathering my strength, I tried to relax in the seat. I tilted my head back and fixed my gaze on the plain, light-colored ceiling of the car, trying to push unwelcome thoughts out of my mind. But associations are associations—they arise suddenly, as soon as a trigger flashes in your field of vision. I can't spend the rest of my life, really, getting lost at the sight of pizzeria signs or any place resembling this one.
A fight must be met with a fight—that's what I decided and forced myself out of the car. At the entrance, my classmates were waiting, maintaining polite conversation about the upcoming open house.
"Dash, do you already have a faculty in mind?" Diana asked casually.
"I'll go to Philology. I decided a long time ago, and honestly, I don't even know why I'm going to the university today. I probably won't change my mind."
"Even if you've decided, it's still great to see the university in person! It's nothing like school. Maybe you'll even get to meet some of the professors."
"I came with roughly the same thoughts. My mom persuaded me to go anyway. But there's really no point comparing it with our gymnasium—it's hardly like the others: too advanced and modern. In other schools in Xerton, the budgets are much smaller for obvious reasons, though I wouldn't say they teach worse. It's more about the difference in approach to education."
The girls nodded, agreeing with every word I said, and I, caught up in the general mood, unexpectedly nodded too, even though I didn't agree. What we went through in our school was drastically different from what the official curriculum prescribed. Of course, the same subjects were on the schedule, as well as the main topics for the final exams, but all sorts of extra elective classes available to any student offered so many more opportunities. The biology labs alone were worth it! Only some universities offer studies on bacterial cultures, according to the internet, but we did this research as early as September. It was definitely worth comparing; otherwise, the hefty sums our caring parents paid from their bank accounts for a better future would have been meaningless.
"It's just a pity that local students can't get a place in the dormitory," Dasha said as Diana reached for the door handle.
Violetta and Dasha walked ahead of Diana, continuing to fantasize about dorm life with other classmates. They seemed to think that moving out from under their parents' watchful eyes under the guise of studying was a great way to grow up and escape constantly nagging relatives. If I could understand Dasha's reasoning, hearing it from Violetta was strange. Can't she—an adult hunter and vampire in one—just put Arthur in a car and drive off wherever she wants, with their money? For the first time, I wondered why she continued living under the same roof as Vladimir, playing at being a family. Yet Violetta discussed the university openly and sincerely with Dasha, like an ordinary schoolgirl experiencing the stages of growing up for the first time. It was surprising how Viola's usual coldness and restraint gave way to something new and warm in her interactions. Either she was perfectly playing the role life gave her, or she genuinely imagined what it would be like to dream of leaving the vicious circle of Xerton's mystical underworld and finally enter the stage of adulthood, where you can rely only on yourself. "We are born and die alone," someone great once said. But if death is the gift denied to you because of your heritage, then what? At what point does growing up end, and life becomes a monotone canvas where there's no room for new things, and the old presses down like a stiff boot?
Inside the pizzeria, everything remained as I remembered, except for the waitress greeting the guests. She hardly resembled Galina; she seemed like her complete opposite: instead of light strands, her thick hair gleamed black like a raven's wing, and if she had makeup on, it looked so natural that a quick glance could easily mistake it for innate beauty and freshness. The waitress led us into the hall, holding a stack of menus to her chest and gesturing politely to a table in the corner. The very same table where Nik and I had once sat, and my stomach knotted.
"Can we sit over there?" I asked hastily, noticing Diana unwrapping her scarf. "By the window?"
"Of course," the waitress smiled warmly and placed the menu on the indicated table. I thanked her briefly and slid along the soft seat to the window, trying to stay as far as possible from the area that involuntarily triggered memories. Scenes from the past still brought pain, though not as intense. Sometimes I wondered how Nikita felt. Was everything okay with him? But I quickly reminded myself that Karimov didn't deserve my concern. Not after he deceitfully planted feelings in my heart that my mind couldn't reject, even knowing the truth.
"Why do you sigh so sadly?" Diana asked, touching my hand with her cold fingers. "Are you nervous?"
"No, not really. We're not taking entrance exams. We'll just go to the university, listen to what they say, and leave."
"That sounds uninspiring," Violetta said without looking up from the open menu.
"What can you do," I said, stretching and picking up the folded brochure to choose a dish. "It is what it is."
"To be honest," Dasha joined in, "I'm really nervous. What if they don't like us? What if we say or ask something wrong?"
"I'll just sit quietly and listen to what they suggest," Diana said, radiating confidence. "Anyway, all the important things will be explained, and any specific details can be clarified later with the admissions office."
"Then why are you even going today?" It was hard to focus on the colorful pictures of pizzas, but curiosity got the better of me.
"I want to see what it looks like inside. Maybe the photos on the website don't show the place accurately. It's important for me to know where my classes will take place for the next five years. I'm not ready to accept old rooms with skimpy heating and crumbling plaster here and there."
"Especially after our school," Viola added, grimacing as if she had seen far worse places and felt the difference. I could only guess where the other students had studied before returning to Xerton.
Diana suggested ordering two large pizzas for the four of us, and I liked the idea because I couldn't possibly eat even a small pizza whole. That unpleasant, ticklish feeling inside me persisted and wouldn't go away. This pizzeria was my personal circle of hell. A place that drained my energy just by existing.
My classmates continued talking about something, but only fragments of their words reached me. I wasn't listening, absorbed in watching the cars speeding past the window, searching for even a little peace. As if on cue, a dark cherry SUV rushed by and plunged me into a swamp of pain with renewed force. It must have been Nikita's father returning home from the supermarket, or maybe he was just running errands.
I licked my dry lips and, as if in a trance, tasted the familiar flavor of lemon marmalade. That was exactly how Nik's kiss had tasted. The memory surfaced—the softness of Karimov's lips that day and how devilishly tempting it had been to touch them. Again and again, growing bolder each time, giving in more willingly, sinking into his arms. If this love had always been just an illusion, imposed from someone else's shoulder, then why did my heart clench painfully every time I thought of Nikita?
"Asya, dig in!" Diana's cheerful voice pulled me back to reality. "Otherwise, we'll eat everything before you even blink."
I tried to smile, but my cheeks felt tight. My skin pinched unpleasantly. As casually as possible, I grabbed a piece from the plate, trying to act like everything was fine. The stretchy cheese refused to let go of the pizza triangle, following its beloved to the edge of the table like a devoted suitor, where I finally separated the excess with the tines of my fork.