Eglanteria

— I'm happiest when we create together.

— I think conversations are also a form of creativity. Right?

— With you, it's true.

***

My name is Miela, and I never want to feel what I'm feeling now again. I never had any desire to interact with people. It was enough for me to look at them, to observe them, like I do with the rest of the world, but nothing more. Yes, I could admire them, sketch their portraits in an album. But talking, building relationships — why would I need that? I've lived my entire twenty years in a small apartment building on Stalevarov Street. My windows face both west and east, and also onto the red-tiled roof, which is so pleasant to climb out onto when no one's looking. Here, in my apartment, I created a separate world. It belonged solely to me, and that suited me perfectly. I could do whatever I wanted, arrange it the way I liked, and let no a soul in. That world, and its utter emptiness, was the key to my peace. Until one girl barged into my life. To be more precise, she didn't exactly break in. What do they say? — the safest road to Hell is the gradual one — the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts... A year ago, on an evening when the clouds turned pink, I heard a strange sound outside my window. It sounded like someone playing a harp, but the instrument's timbre was different, brighter and richer, not at all ethereal. It was as if someone was telling a story. And the story was too poignant not to be captivated by it. I thought they were playing somewhere down below, on the busy street, but when I opened the window, I saw the source of the sound very close, right on the roof slope. Near the window, with her back to me, sat a girl who looked about eighteen. She had dark braids pulled back into a loose high ponytail, an oversized white T-shirt worn loose, and colorful bloomers. She sat cross-legged, her arms seemingly cradling an instrument unfamiliar to me: a fairly large one, made of dark wood, shaped like a pear or a figure-eight. With the slender, dark fingers of one hand, she plucked the strings, while with the other, she strummed them, producing delicate yet vibrant notes. Hearing the window open, the girl slowly turned around. Her smooth, tanned skin, calm, questioning gaze, and slightly full, soft pink lips — that's what immediately caught my eye. My eyes lingered on her for about ten seconds, already wondering what lighting and angle would best suit her portrait. Her eyes held a curious, waiting look, as if I'd climbed onto her roof, and not the other way around. "Am I bothering you?" she finally asked defiantly. Her voice was slightly low, cocky, like a boy's. I remember I hesitated. "What do you mean, 'interfering'? Who is she interfering with, and how is she interfering with it?" I thought then. "I wanted to know what kind of instrument it was," I finally answered. The stranger smiled slightly and raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Have you never seen a guitar before?" "Actually, no. No one plays one here." "But in my country, everyone does." With a shrug, the girl with the braids turned away and briskly began playing some upbeat, bright melody. I pushed up on my elbows, craning my neck to follow her hands as they flew across the strings. She played so easily and effortlessly, as if she didn't have to move her fingers at lightning speed. Finally, the last three grand chords rang out from the strings, and the girl turned to me with a satisfied smile. "It must be a stunning country," I said with complete sincerity. "I'd love to visit it." "You're wrong," the girl snorted contemptuously. "There's nothing good there. It's nothing but factory chimneys and smoke on the horizon. People are suffocating." "So that's why you came here? To get some fresh air?" "Well... You could say that." The stranger glanced at her guitar and began fiddling with something on the fretboard. An awkward silence fell. "I think I should say something," I thought nervously. But I had no idea what exactly. "So, you... Do you know anyone here?" "No," the girl said indifferently, continuing to tweak something. "Do you need help or something?" She looked up, considering it. "You could show me the city. If you want.” "That's it?" "Well, yes. What else do you need?" "But you need a place to sleep..." "Ah," the girl waved her hand dismissively. "I'll find something. So, will you come for a walk with me? Come on, come on, get out here! We'll fly straight from here." "Actually, I can't fly," I muttered, embarrassed. "So walking with me would be boring." My new acquaintance raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Then how do you live? Okay, let's walk. Let's be a little different." "Okay. I'll show you the city center. We have a lot of old buildings here, and when I walk there, I feel... I don't even know how to describe it... Basically, I immediately want to draw everything around me." "Really? I've never had that desire," the girl chuckled skeptically. "Well, we'll see." ...Two hours later, we were standing on the embankment, having already explored all the streets, squares, gardens, and cozy eateries of the city. Night had fallen, and a fresh breeze blew off the river. I was trying to untangle my long hair and pull it back into a ponytail, while Ellie — that was the name of the girl with the braids — sat on a cast-iron railing, swinging her legs as if she weren't at all afraid of falling into the raging river. "Overall, it's a so-so town; I've seen better," she shrugged, her eyes scanning the horizon. "I don't get what you see in this place?" "Or maybe you just can't see?" I shot back, brushing the blond strands of hair out of my face. "No matter how beautiful and beloved the places I show you, you still don't like them. Do you even consider anything beautiful?" Ellie shrugged calmly. "It's just that in my life, I've seen more than just this city." After these words, she gave me a sly look. Not waiting for a reaction, the girl continued: "I like old cities, where the streets are paved with stone and the buildings look like they came straight out of a book of medieval legends. And the trees and flowers should be well-trimmed, well-maintained, and integrated into the city plan, not growing haphazardly like weeds." "And I go out for a walk, and every time I notice something new here. Something I've known for a long time; but every little detail reveals itself to me in a new light. It's a shame you can't see everything around you through my eyes... Although wait, you can!" "What? How?" Ellie frowned in confusion. "Let's go home. I'll show you everything." The girl tensed even more. "Tell me right away what's there. I hate uncertainty." "I draw a lot. Including my city. Do you understand?" I extended my hand to her, inviting her to finally climb down from this intimidating fence. But Ellie ignored me and climbed down herself. "Want to show me your drawings? Okay, let's go. I have nowhere else to go anyway." ...We walked silently through the dimly lit streets of the night city. I don't know what Ellie was thinking, but I was consumed by one question. And for some reason, I was afraid to ask it. But I couldn't help but ask it — I could feel the emotions rising, a tide about to spill over. Ellie must have sensed the tension and asked first: "Is something wrong?" I paused, gathering my courage. Finally, I muttered under my breath: "Why didn't you take my hand when you got off?" Ellie chuckled slightly. "I just don't like being touched. Don't take it personally." It was like a weight had been lifted from my heart. I knew she'd hardly say she hated me, but for some reason, hearing her answer was important. "You know, me too, actually. I can't stand it when someone touches me, even accidentally." "Why did you offer your hand then?" This question stunned me. "I... I don't know. It's just the way it's done." "Who's doing it?" She looked at me with a sharp, perceptive look. "I don't know." I really didn't know then. ...At home, I pulled out all my sketchbooks. I wanted so badly to show them to her; I wanted her to see the beauty around me that I see. Ellie looked at my sketches and watercolors with interest. "We were just taking a walk!" she joyfully pointed at another drawing. "Yes," I replied, smiling softly. I looked at her again with an artist's eye. Soft features, yet dark eyelashes and eyebrows. A very nice combination, making her look both delicate and vibrant; if her hair were light, it wouldn't be the same. Her skin tone was pleasant and even, with a delicate blush on her cheeks. Her face was symmetrical and well-proportioned, perfect for drawing. Soft lighting would be best, with warm tones... "Hey, Miela! What are you thinking about?" She looked at me, her eyes narrowing slyly. I winced and blinked several times. “Oh, nothing special. How do you like the drawings?” “They’re fine,” she shrugs. “I just don’t understand how you manage to see everything around you completely differently than it really is.” “But everything around you is exactly as I drew it. What’s wrong? And what do you mean, ‘fine’? Is that some kind of compliment?” “Well, something like that. Everything in your paintings is somehow... rosier. More romantic.” “I think every artist has their own style. That’s what we’re artists for, to see everything differently. To show people the world as we see it, from an unexpected perspective.” Ellie looks at me with interest. “Do you ever show your drawings to anyone? Do you have exhibitions? Or do you only draw to order?” “I... Yes, of course, exhibitions, and to order…” “Cool! Next time, invite me, I’ll tell everyone I know you.” She looks into my eyes with a smile, as if trying to find something there. I smile back and look away; I always have trouble looking anyone in the eye. My head immediately goes blank, and I start to feel nauseous. I lied to her then. That girl with the braids was the first one to see my work. ...We spent the rest of the evening eating dinner, talking, and getting ready for bed. I made her a bed on the floor — there wasn't any other room in my house. After dinner, she sat on a pile of blankets in just a giant T-shirt, playing a quiet tune on the guitar, her legs crossed out of habit. I lay next to her and listened, curled up with my eyes closed. "Miela!" Ellie said quietly in her usual mocking tone, still playing. "Don't sleep! Now tell me the year Thunderville was founded!" "The year what was founded?" "Thunderville! Don't you know that country? You're something!" "There's no such country," I frowned. "What do you mean, there isn't?" I opened my eyes and looked at Ellie, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. She didn't give it away, just looked at me with slightly narrowed eyes. "I don't know it!" I sat up and shrugged indignantly. "What are you making up?" The girl let out a joyful laugh. "Okay, I was joking. But next time I'll ask something real! So get ready. Review history and geography." "Oh, you!" I smiled and lightly poked her in the side. Ellie dodged with a laugh and began playing something fast and cheerful. "What's that piece?" I asked. "Oh, I heard it at the market from a reveler. He was humming it, and I memorized it—and now I've learned to play it." "Wow, you're a real talent!" "That's not true." "No, really. I love, I love the way you play." "You're lying," Ellie said, a little harshly. I looked at her in surprise. "Why do you think that?" "You haven't heard others play. They're much better than me." The melody sounded more fierce, as if she were determined to break the strings. "But we're not talking about others. We're talking about you. And about how much I like the way you play." Ellie didn't answer. Having finished the piece, she stood up, put her guitar in its case, and came back to me. Now we sat silently next to each other, and I didn't understand why. The silence around her became painful. "An interview," Ellie finally said. Her voice was completely even, emotionless, and she looked at the floor. "Tell me in detail why you like my playing." I hesitated. I'd known both the guitar and Ellie for exactly one evening. I didn't understand music, so I wasn't quite sure what to say. But I said it anyway. "I love the way you touch the strings. The guitar sings under your hands. It sings tenderly, enveloping me with warmth and love when you play a lullaby. Loud and resounding when the piece is emotional and stirring. I mean, your playing always has feeling, character, and charisma. And you infect me with these feelings. You immerse me in the world you create with your own hands. And for that, I... I think I love this instrument now. Because of you." I looked at Ellie. She was still silent, but now a shy smile trembled on her lips. The girl sighed and raised her head. Her gaze became mocking again. "Thank you," she said casually, as if nothing had happened. "Maybe I'm not such a terrible musician after all." ...In the morning, I was awakened by Ellie's loud voice. "Miela!" she screamed right next to my ear. "Come on, get up! Don't sleep!" "What?... Who?..." I jumped up, startled. The girl laughed joyfully. "Come on! Why am I awake and you're asleep?" After breakfasting on pancakes with sour cream, Ellie picked up her guitar, I grabbed my sketchbook, and we went for a walk. We found a bench in one of the parks and each began working on our own creations. Ellie immediately began playing a familiar piece, and I looked around for a model to draw. "I'll draw a linden tree," I said out loud. "What will you draw?" Ellie frowned. "A linden tree." "I don't understand..." I pointed to a tree directly above us. "Don't you know a linden tree?" I mimicked the tone she used to jokingly shame me for everything. "In my country, they just call it a 'tree,'" the girl said, offended. "Trees don't have names." "Well, some people don't know a guitar, and some don't know a linden tree," I remarked philosophically and started drawing. Time flew by. Ellie had managed to play a bunch of pieces, and I had made a few sketches. "I'm bored," my new acquaintance suddenly said. "Tell me something!" "I have nothing to tell you, nothing's going on with me. You do it." Ellie scratched her nose thoughtfully. "Okay," she said. "What about?" "How did you learn to fly?" The girl with the braids smiled warmly and began playing a very gentle, dreamy melody. "That was when I was a kid. My mother bred dogs, and our house was always full of little puppies. I loved them so much. One of them, my favorite, was named Bobby, and he was considered all mine. I named him myself, fed him milk from a bottle, and he slept in the same bed with me..." "And you thought about him when you were learning to fly?" "Not really," the girl laughed. "I imagined hugging every single cute puppie in the world, and only then could I fly. Back then, for me, it was the happiest thing that could happen to a person." "And what do you imagine now?" "And now I think about how much there is still to discover in the world! I'm so interested in exploring this world, how it works, how people live in different places, what culture and history different countries have!.." I smiled and looked up at Ellie. She spoke with such sincerity, such passion and joy, that I couldn't help but admire her. "I'm so interested in learning everything," she continued. "And I really want to share it with someone!" "You can share it with me. I really love listening to you." The girl smiled and proudly lifted her neat nose. "So, I'm a good storyteller?" "Yes," I laughed. "You're a wonderful storyteller." She lifted her nose even higher and closed her eyes. "And what makes you happy?" Ellie purred, turning her face to the warm sun. "Good question. Probably seeing beauty around us. Noticing details. Someone's smile, or the way the sun shines through the leaves. Reflecting that in my work." "But doesn't that help you fly?" "For some reason it doesn't," I sighed. "Maybe I'm doing something else wrong..." "Maybe. You know, I think I should try bringing something new into my life. Maybe visit new places, or find a new hobby, or something. The same old thing gets boring, after all." "Maybe. Well, you came into my life, and you brought so much newness to it! The guitar, the conversation, your jokes... I think I'll miss it." Ellie grinned and looked away. "Come on, we've known each other for less than a day." "That's true," I said, embarrassed. "It's just that I've talked to someone more in the last 24 hours than I have in my entire life." "It's not very noticeable on you," Ellie muttered, looking thoughtfully down. "No, it's noticeable, of course, but not too much... Anyway, you get the idea. We need more communication training." "I think so too." ...The days flew by like seconds, but each one felt like a whole year. I became attached to the girl with the braids, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. How would I wake up alone, without her screams as an alarm clock every morning? How could I no longer hear the sounds of her guitar? How could I live, once again immersed in silence, without her laughter, jokes, and long conversations every day? In my head, I was already getting ready for her to leave. I convinced myself not to get attached, telling myself that she would soon be gone, flying away from me along with her guitar, and I would live as before. But with each passing day, this realization became more and more painful. Every thought tore my heart in half. What should I do? Leave with her, leave my home, my hometown? But that's stupid. How can you give up everything for someone you've only known for two weeks? That's stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Besides, I doubt she's as attached to me. She's a traveler; she knows someone like that in every city. And what will she do with me, who can't fly? I'll just be a burden to her. This is all nonsense. She'll fly away, and I'll survive it. I definitely will. It's strange that she hasn't even thought about leaving yet. She runs to me every day, wants to talk about everything, share all her knowledge and interests with me. She's gradually teaching me to play the guitar, asking me to sing with her. We read aloud together, discuss books. She enthusiastically talks about the places she wants to visit with me. I can see how this city and the fact that I can't fly weigh her down. She doesn't say it directly, but she wants to soar high, to the clouds; to other countries and cities. I feel like a stone, dragging her down. Surprisingly, during this time, the two most touch-averse girls in the world began touching each other constantly. We often poked each other in the side, playfully fought, and our hands would find each other. She would gently take my wrist and tenderly tell me how small and thin I was. She would button my dress. Each time, we tried to prolong the moment of contact. I didn't run away from her, and she didn't pull her hand away—even though usually, for both of us, touching each other felt like a hot iron on skin. One day, she hit something with the back of her hand and immediately ran to me to show me the bruise. I carefully took her hand and stroked it. It was the first time she didn't pull away, as if she, too, was trying to prolong the moment. From then on, she often extended her hand to me with the same intonation in her voice as then — as if expecting to be touched again. ..."Miela!" I was drawing Ellie's portrait when I heard her voice coming from the door. She ran up to me and sat down next to me on the sofa. "You... took out your braids?" I asked, surprised, looking at her. "Yes," she answered sheepishly. "Isn't that too terrible?" Now I could see the "real" Ellie. Her thick dark hair, flowing gently down her back, made her look like a fairytale mermaid. And only then did I notice the color of her eyes. Brown-green — just like mine, but in a different proportion. Hers had more green, while mine had more brown-yellow. She looked straight at me with great excitement. "It's... wonderful," I finally said. "You're so beautiful..." Her eyes narrowed again, and her gaze grew distrustful. "You're lying!" "No," I answered calmly, gently taking her hand. Ellie squeezed my hand in response. "Let me show you something." I picked up a small sketchbook from the couch and opened to the first page. "Is that me?" Ellie asked in surprise, examining the pencil sketch. "Well, it's not me!" She turned the page. Her portrait again, but from a different angle, in different shades... Ellie flipped through the album, holding her breath. Everywhere — herself, her hands, her guitar; drawn in various techniques; full-length, a portrait; a smile, laughter, sadness — she was all here. Just as I see her. "But I'm not like that!" the girl exclaimed in surprise. "But what are you then?" "Ugly; too pale, with a belly, always shaggy... And also too boring, an upstart, and besides, I only know a little bit about everything, not much in-depth knowledge. And I don't have the ability to play." I smiled and patted her hand. "Whose eyes are you looking through?" Ellie shrugged irritably. "My mother's, my classmates'... I know what you're getting at. You need to praise yourself, and all that..." "Do these views help you live a full life? Or do they hinder you?" "They hinder me," Ellie muttered. "Then why do you need them?" The girl snatched her hand from my hand and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's better than looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Because it's the truth. It's objective, it's how others see me." "But I see you differently! You're beautiful, smart, talented, and interesting! Why can't you look at yourself that way?" "Because..." she waved her hands nervously. "Because you see everything that way! You romanticize everything, but the world isn't really like that!" "No, wait. I'm sure I'm not the only one who sees you that way. And we're talking about which perspective is more beneficial for you." Ellie snorted contemptuously and paced the room. "And what's your perspective useful for? It won't help me become a better person. Why change anything, develop, if everything is already so good? If I'm already smart, interesting, if I'm already a good musician?" "It can help you develop out of love and interest in what you do. Not because otherwise you're bad and will fall behind everyone else, but because you really love playing and learning new things. And it doesn't matter who's better or worse than you. Why would anyone need your super-technical game if it's just stiffness and a fear of being worse than everyone else? What's the point of living like that anyway?" Ellie was silent, frowning and turning away from me. "You're fine," I said quietly. "You're a wonderful person. It would be great if you finally relaxed. If you stopped chasing after everyone and constantly beating yourself up." "That doesn't work for everyone," Ellie finally said. "Maybe you're the one who needs to be loved, appreciated, and cherished. And I, on the other hand, need to be driven with a prickly stick." "You never know until you try." The girl paused thoughtfully. Then her expression changed to one of calm and cheerfulness, and she asked: "You know what I'd like right now?" "What?" "To teach you to fly." I was dumbfounded. Isn't it too late now? People usually learn to fly in childhood, or at least in adolescence. "But I..." "I don't want to hear anything about it. Let's go to the roof." A moment later, we were standing outside the window, in what had now become our favorite spot. Ellie held my hands and said, “Now I’m going to try to fly with you. Just a little, a couple of centimeters. And you think about what makes you happy. Just not like usual. Think about something new.” I obediently closed my eyes. What makes me happy?.. In response, images began to whirl before my eyes. Ellie. Her smile. Our cozy evenings when we lit the fairy lights and she played something quiet and joyful. Moments when we touched each other. Our arguments about the interpretation of poems and characters in books. Ellie, Ellie, Ellie… Suddenly, I felt something unusual. Ellie hugged me tightly. She’s so soft and warm. She’s taller than me, and I can hear her heart beating in her chest. I hug her back and feel myself overwhelmed with happiness. I want to cry, to scream from this all-consuming feeling. And it feels like our feet are leaving the ground... I opened my eyes. We are indeed flying. And I'm hugging Ellie. I'm hugging her. I'm hugging her. I'm hugging her. "Are you crying?" I hear her voice. And indeed. For the first time, I'm crying from happiness. I press my whole body against hers. I want to touch her with every inch of my body. "I love you," I whisper. "What?" she asks, either in shock or because she didn't hear. I don't answer, and we fly on. We see the city from above, but it doesn't really matter to me. All I need is Ellie. After a while, we land back on the roof. "Well, the training lap is over," the girl smiles shyly, letting go of my embrace. "We did it! Tell me what you were thinking?" I hesitated. Should I tell her the truth? But I don't want to show weakness in front of her. "The same as usual." "You're lying," Ellie narrowed her eyes. "Your face is subtitled." "And what do the subtitles say?" She fell silent, pondering her answer. "They say... They say you were thinking about me," the girl finally said defiantly. "I can tell by your eyes." "Okay. Yes, that's true." Ellie's green-brown eyes sparkled with joy. "So, I make you happy? Even more than the drawings?" "Unfortunately, yes." "Unfortunately? Why?" "Because you'll be leaving soon. And the drawings will stay with me forever. That's the benefit of surrounding yourself with objects, not people." "But you can fly with me," she said, somewhat indifferently. "Didn't we teach you to fly for nothing?" "I think you don't really want to anymore." "What makes you think that?" "Your face also has subtitles," I copied her tone. Ellie sighed and looked down, her gaze saddened. That awkward silence again... "No, I want to, it's just... I really have to go. I've always traveled alone, and we've been together for so long, and..." I stared at her, confused. "You said you wanted to go places with me. So you don't want to anymore? Why?" Ellie nervously fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. "I... I didn't think it would go this far. I thought we were just chatting, and I found it funny..." "I thought we'd gotten closer. You opened up to me. And I don't think I kept you here. You lived with me because you wanted to." "Yes, but... Don't get me wrong, I really value the time we spent together. But two weeks isn't a long time. Our communication is somehow strange and, by and large, abnormal; no one in their right mind would consider someone close to you if you only talked to them for two weeks." Something inside me snapped and went quiet. "But we can continue communicating. And then it won't last two weeks, but longer. I don't understand you. What's wrong again?" That terrible silence again. Someday it will finish me off. "I just want to fly away," Ellie finally said quietly. "Alone. I'm sorry." ...We sat across from each other on the carpeted floor in the room, silent. It was already dark outside, and the only light in the darkness was a dim garland of house-shaped lights. It was the last evening before Ellie's departure, but for some reason I felt nothing. Only complete indifference to everything that was happening. "You know," the girl said. "I think you're right about me. I can be beautiful, smart, talented. But that's just a part of me. All these people who think I'm stupid, bad, and so on — they're right in their own way, too. Yes, I can be like that too. We're different at different times in life, and that's great!.." "Okay." Ellie looked at me, upset. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and you still don't care? Why are you so... Indifferent?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached out and touched my cheek. "Don't," I winced and flinched slightly. "It hurts again. From being touched." "Sorry..." We were silent for a minute. Then Ellie asked timidly: "Will you miss me?" "Why are you asking? You know the answer. And I know what you'll answer. So stop teasing me." "I don't..." "No, of course I won't miss you," I suddenly blurted out. "There would be a reason! You're the only person close to me in my entire life, and I've fallen in love with you so much that... That my heart breaks at the thought of not having you by my side. I want to see you every moment of my life, I want to touch you. I want to hug you constantly. You, and no one else. I love you. I love the way you laugh, joke, smile. The funny way you walk and grunt. I love the way you play the guitar, and when you speak passionately about something. I love your voice, even though you think it's annoying and scratchy. I adore the way you blush and look down with a smile. You are the most precious thing I have. And I don't care that it means nothing to you, and that the feeling is not mutual. You just... blew into my life like a hurricane. I never let anyone into my world, but you settled into it. In fact, you've become a whole world for me, a world apart. It's wrong, but I don't know what to do about it. And now you're leaving. Along with your guitar, your late-night conversations, and your silly jokes. I'm alone again, but I don't want that anymore. Do you understand? I can't go back to my old life. It doesn't fit me anymore. And a new one... There's no new one yet. And I can't see it without you." I looked up. Ellie was breathing heavily and biting her lip. That meant she was holding back tears. I wondered why? I thought she didn't care about me. "I'll miss you too," she whispered. "Sorry, it's just... It's hard for me to express my feelings directly. To me, my question, 'Will you miss me?' means I'll miss you very much myself." "You're lying," I copied her phrase and tone of voice again. "An hour ago, you said, 'Our communication is somehow strange and, by and large, abnormal; no one in their right mind would consider someone you've only been in contact with for two weeks close.' And you also said you wanted to fly away alone." "Do you remember everything I say?" the girl was embarrassed. "Yes, practically. You know, that happens when someone is really important to you." "Actually, no. No one memorizes other people's words." I shrugged. Let her think what she wants. What difference does it make to me now? "Can I give you something?" Ellie asked. "For what? So I can look at your gift every day and cry? I'll do that anyway. Everything in this apartment is connected to you now. And in the whole town, too." "Sorry. I really didn't mean for it to turn out this way." "Okay," I sighed. "Where's your gift?" Ellie smiled and pulled one of her T-shirts out of the closet. "Here, this is for you." I liked that T-shirt. It was white, with a little guitar embroidered on the chest; it was as big as all of Ellie's T-shirts. "Thank you. I think this will be my everyday look from now on," I said with a forced smile. ...The next day, Ellie flew away, promising to visit me occasionally. Her appearance was slightly different from how I'd first seen her. Now she was without her signature braids; she often pulled her beautiful long hair back into a low ponytail. Her gaze became softer and calmer, the tension in her face had disappeared. It was as if she... had allowed herself to be herself. "And one more thing," she said hesitantly, as we stood on the edge of the roof for the last time. "I haven't told anyone, but my name isn't Ellie. My real name is Eglanteria. Like rose hips..." Having said this, she nervously clutched her guitar and, without waiting for answer, flew off into the distance. And I stood there for a long time, watching her go. I still have to dig myself out of the ruins.