“Tolya, you are going to pick me up from work, right? We’re going to the theater today, remember?” Natasha glanced at the clock. There was an hour and a half left before the performance. And, as luck would have it, sleet had started falling. She had spent the entire morning doing her hair. She had not even put on a hat because she did not want to ruin it. Silly woman.
“I can’t, Natasha. I’ll be coming from the other side of the city. But don’t be late—traffic is terrible right now,” he said and ended the call.
Natasha did not even have time to object. He had promised… Well, never mind. He must have had something urgent to deal with. Natasha could not bring herself to be angry. She was an understanding woman.
“Svetlova, come to the director’s office!” someone shouted to her, and she immediately realized that leaving work early would be impossible. Which meant the taxi was out of the question. With the traffic jams, the journey would already take more than an hour.
Natasha walked down the office corridor. She was wearing high heels and carrying a handbag, an umbrella, and a raincoat. Once again, her workday had dragged on longer than expected. Only one thought ran through her mind: she had to make it to the theater no matter what.
Tolya was probably already on his way, while she could not even order a taxi because of the snowstorm. She would have to take the subway. Without a hat. In those terrible heels.
She and Tolya had been dating for almost two years. They did not live together yet, but almost every morning Natasha got up early to curl her hair, choose a dress, and make herself look especially nice because Tolya would definitely come to see her after work. Or she would go to his place.
He was a serious man and always said that the woman beside him had to be well-groomed. So Natasha tried her best to meet his standards. She wanted to be not merely loved, but worthy of him.
Tolya was considered an excellent catch: he had an apartment, a car, and a respectable position. His parents came from an aristocratic family. Natasha sometimes even felt embarrassed going to his place when his mother was visiting. The woman always looked at Natasha in a peculiar way—either suspiciously or almost pityingly.
Still, Natasha tried very hard to please them. She never refused to help. If she stayed overnight at Tolya’s place, she would wake up early, prepare breakfast for him, and tidy his room while he slept.
When Tolya promised her tickets for their anniversary to a production she had dreamed of seeing, Natasha was moved to tears. She had adored the theater since childhood. She remembered being a little girl and going with her father to see a fairy tale about the Three Little Pigs.
And then her father left.
Trying to push away memories that had surfaced at the worst possible moment, Natasha put on her thin coat, far too light for the unusually cold autumn weather, and went outside. October had turned out to be freezing, and she still had to walk all the way to the subway.
She reached the theater on time.
She had made it.
She did not want to disappoint him.
Trying not to slip near the entrance, Natasha grabbed the door handle and hurried toward the lobby. She hoped Tolya was already waiting inside.
“Your ticket?” the attendant asked directly at the entrance. Because of increased security measures, people without tickets—and those simply trying to come inside to warm up—were not being allowed in.
“My ticket is with my boyfriend. He’s waiting for me!” Natasha squeaked, rubbing her freezing hands together.
She had already become thoroughly chilled. She had no hat or gloves, and she was wearing a short dress with thin tights. Hopefully she would not get sick.
“Then ask your boyfriend to come and meet you. Call him. Unfortunately, we cannot let you inside without a ticket.”
“Miss, are you going in or not?” an irritated woman wearing a hat pushed past Natasha.
A security guard in the lobby politely asked her to wait outside.
Natasha did not argue.
She stood beside the wall, wrapping herself tightly in her coat and watching the theater guests arrive.
Tolya did not come.
He did not answer her calls either.
Ten minutes later, the second bell rang, announcing that the performance was about to begin. An automated voice on the phone told her, “The subscriber is unavailable.”
Natasha remained standing near the entrance, realizing that the evening was completely ruined and that she would most likely get sick as well.
On top of everything else, she was worried about Tolya. Natasha was certain something must have happened to him if he had failed to arrive and had not contacted her.
“Miss, do you have a ticket for the performance?” a voice said nearby.
Natasha looked at the man who had approached her.
He was elderly, with a neatly trimmed gray beard and kind, attentive eyes.
“Yes. I was waiting for someone who had my ticket, but… he didn’t come,” she admitted.
“I have an extra ticket. Come with me. You look completely frozen.”
“An extra one?”
“Yes… My wife and I were supposed to come together. But she couldn’t make it. She didn’t live long enough to see the premiere.”
Natasha was taken aback.
The subway was a fifteen-minute walk away. Her bare head would hardly survive another walk through the freezing weather.
Besides, she had really wanted to see this performance.
“Yes, I’ll go with you. My name is Natasha,” she said.
“Fyodor Petrovich.” He smiled. “Come on, Natasha. I think we’re already late.”
They sat beside each other.
The performance was fascinating, and Natasha almost immediately forgot that only fifteen minutes earlier she had been on the verge of tears while freezing outside the entrance.
The time until intermission passed in an instant.
Natasha turned on her phone.
Not a single message.
Her anxiety returned with renewed force.
“Come along, Natasha dear, I’ll buy you some coffee. You know, Valentina—my wife—and I always loved having éclairs,” Fyodor Petrovich said.
At the mention of his wife, his face became sad.
“Do you like sweets?”
“Yes, very much,” Natasha admitted.
Even if she had been following every diet in the world, she would not have been able to refuse the old man at that moment.
“Can I treat you to something too? Besides coffee?” she offered.
“Would I ever allow a lady to pay?” he replied, placing a plate of assorted pastries on the table.
“Natasha? Is that you?”
Standing in line at the buffet, Natasha suddenly saw one of Tolya’s colleagues.
“Hi, Masha.”
Her heart started beating faster. Swallowing her pride, she asked:
“Do you know what happened to Anatoly? I can’t reach him. And we…”
“Were supposed to go to the theater?” Masha finished for her. “I know. He said his plans for the evening had changed. He was trying to get rid of the tickets.”
“What?”
“I bought them from him. No point letting them go to waste. I thought you knew.”
Natasha felt as though someone had poured ice water over her.
Everything became clear.
“I… Yes, of course. I must have misunderstood him,” Natasha said with a forced laugh.
Fortunately, Fyodor Petrovich was beside her.
He invited Maria to join them at their table, but she declined and hurried back to her friend.
“So your boyfriend let you down?” he asked quietly.
“Don’t worry about it…”
“I was young once too. Things happen.”
“But I doubt you would ever have left your fiancée outside in the freezing cold. Without a ticket.”
He thought for a moment and nodded.
“I would never have made my Valyusha wait…”
Fyodor Petrovich looked sad again.
People crowded around the buffet, discussing the performance, while he drifted into memories.
Natasha asked him to tell her about them.
Fyodor Petrovich was a retired teacher. He had spent forty happy years with his wife, Valentina.
She had passed away at the end of summer, and losing her had been a devastating blow.
“We were planning to come to this performance together. She wanted to see it so much. We bought the tickets in advance—the best seats. You know, until the very last moment, I didn’t want to come. Then I thought Valya wouldn’t have wanted the tickets to go to waste. And you see, Natasha, I ended up meeting you.”
“Everything happens for the best. That’s what my grandmother used to say,” Natasha comforted him. “Thank you. For the éclairs, and for saving me from the cold and loneliness.”
That was not the end of the evening’s surprises.
It turned out Fyodor Petrovich was her neighbor.
They traveled home together, and several days later they met again outside a pastry shop.
“Buying éclairs?”
“Exactly. To remember Valya.” He smiled. “Come over for tea.”
“I’d be happy to,” Natasha said shyly.
“Yes, I know. Young people are always busy. My son is the same way. Here, take these. Eat them at home.”
He held out a small box of pastries.
Natasha suddenly felt sorry for the lonely old man.
She checked the time and agreed.
“All right. I can stop by for half an hour. Show me some photographs. I really want to see how beautiful your wife was,” Natasha said with a smile.
For a moment, she thought she saw tears glimmering in Fyodor Petrovich’s eyes.
His apartment was cozy.
A cat named Senka greeted them in the hallway.
“Valentina insisted we take him in. We found him near the building,” Fyodor Petrovich explained. “He was only a kitten. That was in May. In August, Valyusha was gone. She left the little creature with me. You know, if it weren’t for him, I probably would have lain down beside her and died too.”
Natasha was not an especially sentimental person, but the old man’s words touched her deeply.
“Come on, I’ll put the kettle on. I have some kind of tea… Pierrot or something. I can never remember the name.”
“Pu-erh?” Natasha smiled.
“That’s it. My son brought it from somewhere as a gift. You know, my Zhenya is a good man. He was just unlucky with his wife. Ah, never mind.”
Fyodor Petrovich poured strong tea into their cups and brought out a photo album.
Natasha turned page after page, and gradually simple politeness turned into genuine interest.
His family history went back generations, all the way to the time of the Russian Empire.
Natasha only realized how long she had stayed when the phone in her pocket suddenly came to life.
“Where have you been disappearing to for two days? Am I supposed to run after you?” Tolya had sent her a message and then called.
“I have to go. May I come visit you again sometime?” Natasha asked quietly.
“Come anytime,” Fyodor Petrovich replied, closing the album.
Natasha looked at the curled-up cat, the warm light of the lamp, and the old carpet that reminded her of her grandmother’s house.
In that atmosphere, she felt something she had always lacked—peace of mind.
Natasha had been raised by her mother.
Her father had left when she was young.
Men had always seemed like something distant and external to her life.
Her mother handled everything herself, replacing Natasha’s father, grandmother, and grandfather all at once. She was strong and strict. There were no hugs or whispered secrets between them.
Since childhood, Natasha had tried to be convenient, obedient, and not interfere with the way her mother took care of their little family.
Her memories of her father remained only in childhood dreams.
Perhaps that was why Fyodor Petrovich reminded her of him so vividly.
After the theater incident, Natasha kept her distance from Anatoly.
He became increasingly irritated by how much she had changed. He could not understand that he himself was responsible for the coldness that had appeared between them.
Later, Masha told Tolya that she had seen Natasha at the theater with another man.
Tolya called her and immediately started a scandal.
“So you found yourself an old man and now you’re going to be with him? I knew you were greedy! Mom was right when she said you were only with me for the money! Now I understand why you stopped coming to see me! You found yourself a better deal!”
“Stop talking nonsense!” Natasha’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You abandoned me outside the theater that freezing night. He simply saved me from getting frostbite!”
“And how often does he ‘save’ you? He’s ancient! How can you not be disgusted by him?”
“He has respect and good manners! Don’t judge other people by yourself, Tolya. I was still wondering whether I should give you another chance… But now everything is clear.”
“Then go to your precious old man!”
After that conversation, Natasha and Tolya never spoke again.
Meanwhile, a warm friendship developed between Natasha and Fyodor Petrovich.
She visited him, and they went together to the theater, to concerts at the philharmonic, and once even to the cinema to watch an old movie Valentina had loved.
Fyodor often spoke about his son, about how much he missed his granddaughter, and about his daughter-in-law, who had immediately announced that she wanted to move north so they could receive an apartment.
She had taken his son with her.
“Does he come to visit you?”
“He came for Valentina’s funeral.”
“Does he send you money?”
“I don’t accept it. My pension is good,” Fyodor Petrovich replied, looking away.
“Why don’t you go visit him yourself?”
“I’m too old for trips like that. And my daughter-in-law wouldn’t exactly be happy to see me.”
He sighed.
Natasha understood that it was not the most pleasant subject.
“You know what? I saw a poster… Why don’t we go to the circus?”
“Why not?”
That evening, he called her three hours before the performance.
“I’m sorry, Natasha. I’m not feeling well. I won’t make it today. I’ll rest. Give my ticket to someone else.”
“Fyodor Petrovich, I’m coming over right now. I’ll bring medicine,” Natasha said anxiously.
Senka lay on the sofa as usual, while the old clock counted away the hours of Fyodor Petrovich’s life.
Natasha brought fruit, pastries, medicine…
He lay there and told her how he had met Valentina, how they had renovated their apartment, and how happy they had been when Zhenya was born.
“But then my son got married and moved away,” Fyodor Petrovich said. “Career, family, responsibilities. I wasn’t angry. Only Valya worried. And now I’m just an old man who’s inconvenient to visit. But enough of that. You’ve heard my complaints a million times already. Tell me how you’re doing instead.”
Natasha listened.
And she understood how easy it was to turn away from someone while they were still alive.
Later, you might run out of time.
And regret it for the rest of your life.
Fyodor Petrovich recovered.
At least that was what Natasha thought.
They never made it to the circus, but Fyodor bought tickets for Natasha’s favorite theater.
He planned to give them to her for New Year’s.
He never lived long enough to do it.
One day, Fyodor Petrovich stopped answering his phone.
Natasha became worried and started knocking on his door, but no one answered.
A neighbor rushed over. She had a spare key.
The ambulance did not arrive in time.
Natasha was trembling, but she gathered his documents, called the local police officer, and found the phone number of Fyodor Petrovich’s son, Zhenya.
It turned out he did not even know his father had heart problems.
“But I already bought plane tickets! Why couldn’t Father wait for me?” Evgeny said, anger and despair mixing in his voice.
“He was waiting for you…” Natasha answered quietly.
At the funeral, she saw Evgeny in person for the first time.
He had flown there alone.
He approached her, thanked her, and behaved politely and with restraint.
Yet there was something about him that reminded her of his father—the way he carried himself, perhaps, or the look in his eyes.
“You know, Natasha, my father didn’t call me very often. But recently, whenever I called him, he talked about you. You were the only person he truly felt peaceful with after my mother died,” Evgeny said. “I don’t know how it happened that a complete stranger managed to charm him like that…”
“We were neighbors. I just listened to him. Elderly people need someone to talk to, you know. Sometimes that’s all a person really needs.”
“I’d like to thank you. It was my father’s wish.”
“There’s no need. Warmth and friendship are not merchandise. They aren’t sold for money.”
“Then what can I do for you?”
“Your father left behind a cat. I took him temporarily, but my… ex-boyfriend is allergic.”
Natasha did not know why she had mentioned Tolya.
Perhaps somewhere deep inside, she still thought he might return to her life.
Or perhaps she simply wanted Evgeny to take some responsibility—if not for his father, then at least for his father’s cat.
“I can’t take him north with me. But I promise I’ll figure something out. Please, let him stay with you for a couple of months. I’ll pay for his food,” Evgeny said pleadingly.
“All right.”
On the ninth day after his father’s death, Evgeny invited Natasha to the memorial gathering.
He brought her an envelope.
“I already told you, I won’t accept…” Natasha began.
“They’re tickets. My father bought them. Apparently, he wanted to invite you to the theater,” Zhenya said with a sad smile. “He just didn’t get the chance. They belong to you. It’s a New Year’s performance. I think you’ll like it.”
“Really? I’ll accept them. Thank you… It’s just a shame I have nobody to go with. Unless I take Senka,” Natasha joked.
“I could go with you. If you’d allow me.”
“What about your wife?”
“We’ve been getting divorced for a month. We’re dividing our property and sorting out custody of our daughter,” Evgeny said. “If it weren’t for the divorce, I would have managed to fly here sooner and see my father.”
Natasha did not know what to say.
She had many doubts.
Still, she agreed—in memory of the man she had respected.
At first, Natasha avoided looking directly at Evgeny.
She thought he was selfish.
But then he began speaking.
“I know you think I abandoned my father. And that’s true. But I didn’t disappear because I didn’t care. I just couldn’t cope with adult life and responsibility. I made mistakes. Then there were endless fights with my wife, attempts to save the marriage. My daughter ended up in the hospital… Work wasn’t going well. Then my mother died… I hid from everything. And now I regret spending part of my life on things that weren’t really worth it.”
As he spoke, Natasha suddenly stopped seeing him as a man she needed to blame.
Instead, she saw someone who was hurting too.
Gradually, her distrust disappeared.
Two months later, just as he had promised, Evgeny moved back to his hometown and came to pick up the cat.
“My daughter promised to come during the holidays. I think we’ve managed to sort everything out,” he said, looking at Natasha. “Thank you for helping.”
“I have pastries. Your father and mother…”
“Loved éclairs very much,” Evgeny finished with a smile.
The final wall between them fell.
They fell in love gradually and carefully, like two adults who had made mistakes before but had decided to give themselves another chance and start again.
A year later, Natasha and Evgeny submitted their marriage application to the registry office.
There was no grand celebration—just the official ceremony and wedding rings.
Natasha moved into his apartment, and they rented hers out.
Senka the cat lived with them.
They called him their little ginger Cupid—the excuse that had ultimately brought Evgeny back home.
And Natasha never forgot that evening outside the theater when she had believed she had been left completely alone.
It turned out that every ending can also be a beginning.
And whenever she looked up at the evening sky, she was certain that Fyodor Petrovich was smiling happily down at them from the clouds.
