Mikhail was walking down a narrow, shady alley, holding the phone to his ear and breaking into a broad, almost boyish smile. The sun slipped between the trees, caressing his face, while something warm and familiar sang inside his soul—as if time had taken a step back, and he was once again that carefree age when life seemed like an endless series of adventures.
“Max! Just imagine! How many years have passed?! What thoughts come to mind? This is a whole era! Back then, we were just two daring kids, and now—we’re grown men with the baggage of lived years!”
A lively, slightly hoarse voice of his friend sounded through the receiver:
“Yeah, not just years—a whole eternity! A whole decade! Do you even realize how much water has flowed under the bridge? I even called Alexandra, told her: ‘We’re gathering, period!’ No discussion, Mishka. Times like these—you can’t waste a minute.”
“Well, you’re something else…” Mikhail laughed, feeling a warm wave of memories spreading inside.
“But not like before, you know? I’m no longer that reckless romantic. Now I’m a respectable family man. I have a beautiful wife, two charming little girls who remind me every day that being a father is a true art. So, the evening will be quiet, family-oriented—maybe with a kid’s blanket and tea under it. And you, old friend? Settled down or still running free?”
Mikhail always met that question with an inner groan. He loved his independence, but deep down felt how loneliness scratched at his heart. His personal life persistently avoided him, even though in every other aspect he had achieved a lot. Career—at the top, money—available, reputation—rock solid. But for some reason, female happiness had never found his address. Once it even came to a wedding, but a few days before the registry office, Mikhail decided to learn more about the bride. And the more he learned—the less he wanted to marry. Then there was a second attempt, but it turned out the girl was in love not with him but with his bank account. After that, he firmly decided: “No, thanks. Peace for the heart, freedom for life.” Though Sashka, his longtime buddy, constantly teased him on this topic—good-naturedly but persistently.
“Not married yet, but close,” Mikhail replied, trying to make his voice sound confident and a bit mysterious.
Maxim took the news enthusiastically:
“No way?! Buddy, congratulations! A real wife isn’t just support; she’s the foundation of success. So what are you waiting for? We’re all gathering—families, kids, gifts, toasts! We’ll throw a decent, worthy evening, not like in youth—with a guitar on the roof and the police at the end of the night!”
They both laughed because despite their respectable age, they still remained those same guys for whom adventures seemed the best part of life. Of course, Max had long moved abroad and had lived in Europe for the last few years, getting used to the measured European life. But Mikhail and Sashka kept gathering, finding mutual friends, sometimes even arranging something in the spirit of their old adventures. But now everything had to be different—calm, with kids, with the warmth of the family circle.
“If you want a quiet evening, let’s do it at my place,” Mikhail suggested. “I recently bought a house outside the city, landscaped the yard—flowers, a grill, a gazebo. The weather promises to be splendid. Weekend—the perfect time. It’s decided!”
“See you soon!” Maxim exclaimed joyfully. “And, Mishka, you have no idea how glad I am you finally decided to settle down. Sashka and I have started to get jealous, honestly! Just kidding. But better not tell my wife—she’ll kill me.”
Mikhail smiled but didn’t reply with a teasing comment—his mood was just too good. However, as soon as he put down the phone, reality hit him anew. The problem was he actually had no fiancée. And fooling his friends was risky. If he admitted later that it was all a joke, his friends wouldn’t judge him but he’d lose face. And he always had to be on top. A beautiful girl nearby wasn’t just an accessory; it was a symbol of stability, maturity, and self-confidence.
He pondered. Where to find a suitable candidate? An actress—too expensive and unreliable. An acquaintance—dangerous: what if she fell in love and started demanding meetings, gifts, and then a real marriage wouldn’t be far off. Only one option remained—to look among the female employees.
About fifty women worked at the office. There had to be at least one who could play the role of his fiancée. The main thing—she had to be unmarried. Sashka, as a local guy, knew all the “taken” ones. So the choice had to be made today before time ran out.
Mikhail started walking around the office, peeking into departments, carefully observing the employees. In accounting, his gaze met a glass wall and several figures behind desks.
“So… these two are too old. Svetochka clearly wants to be a model, but definitely not for this role. The one by the window—beautiful, but recently married, got a gift from the team. So, no.”
By the end of the day, Mikhail returned to his office irritated and tired. None of the employees fit. Neither by character, nor by appearance, nor by life situation.
“What a misfortune…” he thought, wearily sinking into his chair.
At that moment, someone entered the office. It was the cleaning lady. She quietly moved around the room, wiping shelves, trying not to disturb the owner. Noticing him, she shyly turned:
“Sorry, Lena said you weren’t here, so I decided to tidy up.”
Mikhail smiled, raising his hand reassuringly:
“It’s alright, don’t worry. I was just held up. Work calmly, I won’t bother you.”
Sitting down at his desk, he turned on his laptop, but his eyes again slid across the room. Something about this girl caught his attention. She was slender, young, well-groomed. Not a typical cleaning lady. Her movements were soft, calm. Why was such an attractive girl working here?
“Excuse me, what’s your name?” he asked unexpectedly.
The girl turned, her eyes sparkling with a smile:
“Kristina. And you, Mikhail Sergeyevich, I certainly know.”
“Have you been with us long? I hadn’t noticed you before.”
“Three months already. I usually come when you leave, so we hadn’t met.”
Her speech was surprisingly articulate. Not a hint of dialect, no traces of colloquial speech. That caught his attention.
“And why did you choose this job? Just curious. By your behavior and manner of speaking, you could work somewhere else.”
Kristina smiled, slightly shrugging:
“Any work deserves respect. Do you think a cleaning lady has to be a scruffy, unpleasant woman with bad breath?”
Mikhail smirked:
“No, of course not. But still interesting…”
She explained:
“A year ago, my son was born. His father left us, so I had to work however I could and not give up studying. While my aunt watched Yegor, it was easier, but she left to be with her son. This job suits me: while I’m busy, the neighbor watches him.”
Mikhail involuntarily felt surprised:
“It must be hard financially?”
Kristina smiled, this time a little sadly:
“Yes, no extravagance. But we manage.”
When cleaning was done, the girl began gathering her things, but Mikhail stopped her.
“Wait. I have a proposal.”
She looked at him attentively, wary:
“You seem like an honest person?”
Mikhail laughed:
“Of course, don’t think the worst. Just a business proposal. Sit down, I’ll explain.”
Kristina cautiously sat, listening to his story. After a few minutes, she was laughing:
“And why do you need all this? What will you tell them later?”
“I’ll say I found someone even better,” Mikhail replied with a sly smile.
She looked at him carefully:
“You’re definitely not up to anything?”
“I swear,” he raised his hands as if surrendering.
Kristina said:
“You know, I once planned to enter theater school. Looks like this is my chance… What about Yegor?”
“Simple,” Mikhail assured her. “Come live with me for a couple of days. We’ll come up with a story about his father. Let them think the guy chickened out and ran away from responsibility. And that’s how it was.”
Kristina pondered, as if weighing on invisible scales everything: her past, present, and possible future. Her eyes darkened with some deep, not fully realized emotion. Then she quietly but decisively said:
“Alright. I agree.”
Mikhail felt relief wash over him like he had been falling into an abyss and suddenly got saved. He was even a little confused—not expecting her to agree so easily.
“Seriously? Kristina, you’re not joking? You just saved me! This… this is incredible! You won’t regret it, I promise! I’ll reward you generously, as we agreed!”
A couple of hours later, Mikhail found her again in the office corridor. She was already getting ready to leave, carefully putting on her jacket.
“Well, are you done? Then let’s go to my place.”
“Yes, but first we’ll pick up Yegor from kindergarten.”
Two hours later, they were standing in Mikhail’s spacious house. The air was filled with muted light and the scent of fresh wood. Kristina slowly looked around, as if inspecting a new world.
“You live here? Alone? Isn’t it scary? Everything’s so… empty, gloomy.”
Mikhail looked at the interiors, which he had taken for granted before, and suddenly realized how true her assessment was. This house resembled a cold gallery more than a cozy family nest.
“A designer, huh!” he thought irritably. “Convinced me minimalism is stylish and cool. I’ll redo everything!”
“Want to light the fireplace for coziness?” he offered, smiling slightly, feeling something more than a business deal beginning between them.
During the few days Kristina and Yegor spent with him, Mikhail felt for the first time what it was like to come home where someone is waiting for you. Where the air smells of fresh baking, where someone washes the dishes after dinner, where a small pair of boots stand by the door—and you know behind them is a small heart that needs love.
He caught himself waking up wanting to see their faces. Morning coffee, brewed not by himself, became a real ritual, almost festive. Loneliness no longer seemed natural. It became foreign, like old clothes long outgrown.
But he knew: the holiday wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, everything would return to normal.
On the eve of the meeting with friends, Mikhail asked Kristina for advice:
“I still can’t decide where to order food for the guests. What cuisine do you like?”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise:
“But you’ll have very few guests. Why order anything?”
Over the past days, their communication had become simpler, warmer; they switched to informal “you,” as if they’d always known each other.
“You’re almost family now,” she added with a sly smile. “We’ll do everything ourselves. You’ll grill the meat over coals like a proper family man, and I’ll handle the appetizers.”
Mikhail looked at her with mild puzzlement, then smiled:
“Are you sure it will work? What if we ruin everything? I’ve never grilled meat over coals.”
“We won’t ruin anything,” she assured. “We just need to buy everything in advance.”
That evening was a real discovery for Mikhail. He, Kristina, and little Yegor laughed and joked in the kitchen, marinating meat, getting spices, tasting sauces. And that was the first time he noticed that in this room, where he’d only ever stopped by for coffee before, he had entire sets of pots, pans, spices, and other cooking tools he’d never used.
When Kristina asked him to peel potatoes, Mikhail theatrically raised his eyebrow:
“That’s too much. I’m a businessman after all, not a cook.”
“Peeling potatoes is too much?” she laughed. “Then you can complain about the businessman’s lot while chopping onions!”
By the appointed hour, guests started arriving. Mikhail, Maxim, and Sasha met, hugging warmly and for a long time as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. The kids immediately found common ground with Yegor and disappeared into the garden, filling the surroundings with joyful cries.
The wives didn’t stay out either: one of them, smiling, extended her hand to Kristina.
“Hello, I’m Angelina, and this is Olga. We’re the wives of two ‘grown-up teenagers,’” she said with a sly smile.
Kristina, hiding her nervousness, smiled back:
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kristina. For now, in a different status, but glad to meet you. Please come in.”
When the men joined, Kristina felt their attentive gaze. Finally, Maxim couldn’t hold back:
“Well, what can I say? Our Mishka finally found taste! I’m happy for you, brother.”
“Stop it,” Mikhail laughed, pulling his friend aside.
Everyone comfortably settled on the veranda. Sasha, watching Mikhail skillfully turning the kebabs, couldn’t hide his surprise:
“Mish, you’re saying you do this yourself now?”
“I grill and marinate myself too,” he calmly replied, proudly straightening up.
“Say it’s not from a restaurant,” Sasha didn’t believe.
“No, and that woman made me peel onions,” Mikhail complained. “I cried like after ‘Titanic.’”
Sasha laughed:
“Brother, now I’m sure you’re on the right path!”
The evening passed in a warm and heartfelt atmosphere. Closer to night, when everyone moved from the yard to the living room, Angelina dreamily said:
“Oh, some romantic music now…”
Kristina smiled, got up, and went to the piano standing in the corner of the room. Mikhail watched her every move in amazement until her fingers touched the keys. Light, flowing chords filled the space, and a reverent silence fell over the room. The melody made everyone freeze, and in Mikhail’s heart arose a strange feeling—both trembling and painful.
He feverishly searched for any reason for Kristina and Yegor to stay even one day longer.
The guests left. When Yegor, sitting on his lap, began to nod off, Mikhail anxiously turned to Kristina:
“You’re not going to leave now, are you? Yegor is really tired. Stay until tomorrow, I’ll take you myself.”
She looked at him, then quietly answered:
“Tomorrow it’ll be even harder to leave. You get used to the good quickly.”
Yegor was already asleep, and Kristina, looking at Mikhail, barely whispered:
“The evening flew by so fast…”
Later, left alone on the terrace, Mikhail watched the night moths fluttering around the lamp as if trying to touch the light. In his hand was a glass of whiskey; his thoughts tangled as if trying to find an answer to a question he hadn’t yet formulated.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated: a message from Sasha.
“If you lose her, you’re just an idiot.”
Mikhail smiled, put the phone aside, but soon another message came—from Maxim this time.
“I envy you. I’ve already been through all this; you have it ahead. Don’t lose your chance.”
Standing up, Mikhail firmly decided to act. He went to Kristina’s room, knocked quietly, and, slightly opening the door, gestured for her to come out.
“Let’s go to the terrace?” he softly suggested.
Kristina looked at him surprised and came out.
“What’s wrong?”
Mikhail turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, and said:
“Stay.”
“How do you mean?” she asked, confused.
“You and Yegor. Do you want to stay? Forever.”
She looked at him, not knowing what to say.
“But we’ve only known each other for three days, Mish. You know almost nothing about me.”
“I think I’ve known you my whole life,” he replied seriously. “I can’t imagine my life without you now.”
Kristina was silent, then almost whispered:
“To be honest… I don’t know how to live without you either. I already thought about how I would manage, but…”
Before she could finish, Mikhail lifted her hands, looked long into her eyes, and quietly said, touching her lips:
“I’ve been looking for you my whole life. Where were you before?”
“Waiting for you to find me,” she answered, her voice trembling like the first spring ice beginning to melt under the sun’s rays.
And at that moment, in the middle of the night, under the twinkling stars and rustling leaves, in a house that had once been empty and cold, for the first time in many years, true family warmth was born.
