When expecting something new and pleasant, one feels joy, happiness, from the fact that soon that day, hour, minute, second of my happiness will come.
But sometimes, the fear that this will all come true and my life will change completely scares me deeply. Probably like many, I feel a fear of change.
On Wednesday, Anzhelica called me, and we agreed on a meeting at Arbat area.
I arrived an hour early, assuming she would be late, and settled onto a bench to wait for her.
A fear crept in that Anzhelica was merely a figment of my imagination, destined never to appear.
As people passed by, I found myself shivering at the sight of them - all so gray, so grim, and so indistinguishable from one another. Waiting for her felt like hoping for a miracle - painful and intense. It was hard to believe that she would ever show up in a place like this.
And suddenly, it was a miracle: she emerged from the frantic crowd, looking brilliant and implausible as she strode toward me.
First, I squeezed my eyes shut, then immediately opened them to make sure she wasn't a mirage. And there I was, holding her warm hand in mine.
Anzhelica invited me to the cafe Troika, which was literally a few steps from us.
Her shoes were worn out this time, and the black dress looked old-fashioned, which came as a great surprise to me.
The cafe we entered was tiny, but its mirrored walls made it feel much larger, and soft music played quietly in the air.
“How I love such music!” Anzhelica said, “ It disconnects me from everything, immersing me into a world of illusions.”
Sitting across from her, I couldn’t even think about food. Outwardly, I appeared calm and composed, but this imperturbability was deceptive.
“Could I have a glass of that vintage Chardonnay, please? And for you?” Anzhelica asked, turning to me.
“I’ll have the same,” I said. At that moment, I felt that a little wine might help ease the fear and panic that had seized me.
But after a couple of sips, I began to reflect. After all, she had entered my world, and I was ready to endure any pain at her hands. Will she break me? I wondered. Let it be.
I saw her weakness clearly. She was lost in her own world, unable to face reality. But as we stepped out of the cafe and waited for a taxi, she took my hand and held me against her heart.
I held her hand in mine, feeling no shame for my adoration or my submissiveness; she alone could initiate me into her mysteries and turn my vague fantasies into tangible reality.
“I’d love to have the perfumes you wore when we first met; they’ll be a reminder of you,” she began. “Alexander’s past women never held my attention, but there’s a nagging feeling that he’s keeping secrets this time. But you... you’re so full of life. This closeness feels like a different world entirely. You’re like a little sun, shining so brightly.”
I understood perfectly that our love could become our downfall.
“You know, Alexander is jealous and impatient,” Anzhelica continued. “He takes whatever he wants but becomes furious if I do the same. He’ll sleep with another woman during a party, right in front of me. And I... just to cope and escape it all, I take drugs.”
Lately, I’ve noticed my voice growing husky, much like hers, while my face has lost its habitual smile.
That night, a dream took me to the roof of a skyscraper. There I stood in a long evening dress and stiletto heels, forced to descend a shaky fire escape. With the wind blowing hard, the fear grew so intense that taking even a single step felt impossible.
The next day, we decided to meet again and have lunch together.
I was prepared to rush after her into any vice, no matter how perverted, with no fear of being consumed by it. My influence over her was a mystery to me, but it didn't matter—my love for her was all-consuming.
But when Anzhelica came to my home the following Monday, I decided to end the secrecy and relieve the agonizing wait that had been torturing me. I asked her roughly, as Alexander might: “So, do you love women? Do you realize that you are drawn to them?”
“I understand my attractions; I fully realize that I’m drawn to women. But I can never seem to find the one I’d want to stay with for long. In fact, I’m not even sure I want that,” she said, and then immediately changed the subject. “You have such a delightful way of dressing! That pink dress you wore at the café - the color was perfection, absolute perfection! And I am simply in love with your turquoise ring and coral earrings.” Her hands were trembling, and she spoke in a shaky voice.
An awkwardness settled over me because of my directness, and nerves began to set in. But she continued:
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“Back when we met at the Arbat area, your tight jeans were so admirable. The urge to get a better look was there, but shyness kept me from staring too closely.”
“I was also too shy to look closely at your body, although I terribly wanted to.”
Our conversation was somewhat fragmentary and chaotic. She glanced at my legs again and said:
“There isn’t a single flaw in your legs. I have never seen such perfection in my life. And I truly love the way you walk.”
We both were nervous, and this tension was becoming unbearable. Finally, I asked:
“Do you really like these jeans?”
“I’ve loved tight pants since childhood,” she replied, “but later I couldn’t afford them and had to wear whatever was given to me.”
“Let’s go to my room,” I said. “You can try them on.”
We went to the bedroom, where she sat on the bed and tried to put the jeans on, but they were too small. I surreptitiously watched her, shocked by the sheer beauty of her body. I reached out to touch her hand, but Anzhelica immediately jerked it away.
The thought struck me: could she be afraid of me? It seemed impossible that anyone could be even more fragile or fearful than myself. The idea was hard to believe.
Already in the hall, as we sat on the sofa, she leaned over. The curve of her full breasts appeared in the neckline of her tight black dress, and a shiver passed through me. She rambled incoherently, but I now understood that her chatter was a veil for a completely different conversation - one about things neither of us dared to put into words.
Having seen her off in a taxi, I returned home amazed, exhausted, and jubilant - happy and yet unhappy at the same time. I was haunted by the shame of having touched her hand.
The next day, we met at the 'Burger House.' She knew that I liked formal suits, and she wore exactly that this time.
“I don't need anything,” Anzhelica said, “only the perfume you’ve been wearing lately.”
I opened my bag, took out a different bottle, and uncapped it.
“Try this,” I said.
The gift was accepted.
Happiness filled the room as Anzhelica began to beam. Words spilled out from both of us at once.
“There was such a strong urge to call you last night,” I said.
“And a WhatsApp message was almost sent,” she added. “Later, in the taxi, regret took over. There was so much scolding for that clumsiness, those frayed nerves, and all that senseless chatter. There was simply so much - so very much - to tell you.”
“So that’s how it is,” I said. “A mutual fear of causing irritation or failing to guess the mood - it seems we both felt it.”
“That evening, my arrival at the cafe to meet Alexander felt like being on a drug,” she replied. “You were the only thing on my mind. Voices from the crowd seemed to come from somewhere far away, as if I were soaring high above them.”
“Forgive my foolishness,” Anzhelica continued.
“We both lost ourselves,” I replied, “but that is what happens when one reaches their true essence. The tenderness you revealed to me was breathtaking, and it has touched me to my very core. We are the same. A mutual striving for such beauty was always there, along with a fear of anything that might tarnish it. The reality of this moment caught us both unprepared, despite all those years of thinking about it. Let’s not fear the shock; it is delightful. I love you, Anzhelica!”
Not knowing what else to say, I laid out the coral earrings and the turquoise ring between us on the seat. These trophies were a tribute to her incredible fragility, placed at her feet as a gift.
Her tone changed completely: the agitation vanished, replaced by a serious, perfectly composed speech.
“Sleep eluded me all night,” she said. “Memories of our meeting and our conversation kept me awake. What have you done to me?”
Joy surged through me at her words, as the realization hit that Anzhelica was finally opening up. Had I managed to truly stun her? “So, you do love me, Anzhelica!”
A plan formed for our next meeting: a visit to a clothing store. The intention was to give her another unforgettable gift.
At the entrance, a plump woman met us. Her disapproval was obvious; perhaps the sheer happiness on our faces was too much for her. Nevertheless, I remained firm, issuing commands to bring this and show that. The saleswoman silently complied with every request.
“I only want what connects me to you,” Anzhelica said. We stopped at a pair of jeans exactly like mine; she resolutely refused any other purchase. “I have never tried to imitate another woman before!”
There we went, pressed close, hand in hand. The ecstasy was so intense that speech became impossible. The city and its people vanished, leaving only the piercing joy of walking together through the green streets of Almaty. This feeling will never be forgotten, nor can it ever be truly described. We soared above the world, far beyond any reality, lost in sheer ecstasy.
I discovered the sincere Anzhelica, a woman given to me alone. She entrusted me with the secrets of a soul whose face and body had ignited so much unrequited love in others. It became clear that she hadn't realized her own destructive power; it had held her hostage, and now that it was free, she was left confused. Through me, she found the pure simplicity of her true self - not in Alexander's world, but in one entirely different.
Alexander had depicted a dangerous, pernicious woman. Anzhelica, however, told of her complete alienation from his reality, a woman immersed instead in her own fantasies and madness.
She entered my life, yet brought none of the world’s harshness or brutality with her. Those were not her qualities. Anzhelica had come to me simply because she preferred a dream.
Yesterday, she told me over the phone:
“There are so many things I would love to do with you. I would even take drugs with you.”
It is now clear that her endless stories of adventure were merely a smokescreen, an attempt to hide the truth behind a veil of anecdotes.
Thoughts of her fill my mind day and night. As soon as we parted yesterday, such a chilling emptiness seized me that a tremble set in, as if from a severe cold. Her oddities and humility are captivating, as is her fear of looking reality in the face.
The realization that we must part was clear - a way to end this turmoil and regain my former clarity. Yet this fear is even stronger in me than in her.
In her presence, everything I am is renounced. A desire for more grows, bringing a sense of shame with it. The fear of disappointing her is constant. Our conversation remains only half-finished; she speaks just to fill the air, skimming the surface because a deeper silence is too frightening for her.
Had Anzhelica wished it yesterday, I would have lowered myself to the floor at her feet. But such a thing she would never allow, even though she held my hand and pressed me to her chest in the taxi. “How I want to start everything from scratch!”
Following our phone conversation yesterday, the decision was made to buy several lottery tickets as a test of luck. Then, without even opening them, the tickets were handed to the first stranger met, along with a wish for a win. Thus, a stranger extracted a profit from the simple desire to test my luck.
