Nastya wrote that he could take it easy. Why was she going through all this now? Why would it be brought up again? Why bring it up again?

But as for remembering – is it possible to forget? Of course, from time to time, images flashed before her mind's eye.

But by and large, it made little sense now, especially what and to whom would she prove and why?

Nastya did not want to meet refugees like her. She didn't want other people's memories, she didn't want to talk about her own.

Fear of death is not something nice to talk about over a cup of coffee.

She naturally started actively looking for a job, but she didn't want to go as a salesperson. She had a medical degree, but it would have been difficult to get a normal position right away, especially since she was not working in her specialty. So, she started looking for something related and simpler. And she came across an opportunity for quick training in laser rejuvenation, weight loss, and so on and so forth.

She liked the idea, especially since it was a fairly well-paid job. Her appearance was just right – slender, pleasant, but not provocative, not flamboyant. A pleasant, in a word, young woman.

Literally in a month she took this course and literally started walking around all the salons. And her medical education, in this case, played a role. Even though she had never worked in medicine.

She could afford, at her rather frugal pace, to live for about six months as well, but still she decided not to procrastinate until the last minute.

Oleg didn't write anything for about a month. And then suddenly he did.

"You know, I don't know how you'll feel about this, but I thought I should tell you after all – Kirill is gone …"

Nastya somehow felt everything squeeze inside her, and she burst into tears. Of course, it was so strange to regret the death of the one who, in fact, was the cause of all this, and in the format in which it was happening. He was, in fact, the instigator and the main conductor of all these actions.

But Nastya was sobbing. She cried and cried. It was everything – the stress she had been hiding and suppressing, and the actual grief over his death. After all, he was, above all, a man who in turn had also helped her, and generally treated her well, and actually … She realized that the whole point was that the situation was extremely tempting for them, very convenient, and she was, in fact, very modestly resisting.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry …" – she wrote.

And Oleg somehow felt that she was really sorry, that it was true.

It wasn't that it was pleasant, but it spoke all the same to the fact that she considered them human and not … something else.

"Ivan is already a civilian," she wrote

"I know," Oleg replied

"He was still sending me money," she thought, no need to hide it.

"I know that too," Oleg confirmed

"Take care of yourself," Nastya wrote quite sincerely

"That's just the way it is," Oleg rightly remarked, but he was very pleased to hear it.

Kirill was sitting on a hillside somewhere, everything was in a haze, he was looking up somehow. At first, he thought it was a dream. But then he realized that this was it, he would never come back, he would never wake up again.

Suddenly he heard a familiar sob – because he'd heard Nastya sobbing before – then on the bed, when he'd blurted "kill."

He turned at that crying and found himself in Nastya's apartment; he saw her again, sitting in an armchair, hugging her legs and sobbing. He was a bastard after all, how could he "joke" like that. Suddenly he and Nastya felt terribly sorry for himself – well, he is still so young, he did not fulfill his plan of "We can not all, of course, we can not, but we will try. In fact, of course, it's not true. He didn't have a plan. He was just saying that. He was handsome, and he was popular with the female sex, and of course he was popular. But not as much as you might think, often.

He suddenly felt like stroking Nastya's head, so he did.

"Kirill," Nastya whispered confused – she suddenly felt someone stroking her head.

The curtain swayed as if from a draught, but there was no draught....

The next day Nastya had to go to two interviews for her new job at the salon as a specialist in all sorts of laser procedures.

And Kyril decided to go with her to make her successful.

Are you surprised? Well, yes, "go" is a figure of speech, but he decided to go nonetheless.

When he realized that the first option did not suit her, because the landlady there was, to put it mildly, not very decent, he made every effort to prevent her from getting there at all. And she broke her heel, and forgot her phone, and did not get on the route. In short, it was a total bummer and then she decided not to be late for the second interview and forget about the first one.

But the second place was just good, and the owner is a decent woman and the contingent was very wealthy in this salon.

Kirill used all his charm to make the best possible impression on the hostess, and she melted, and did not pay attention to her complete lack of experience in this field. She just liked Nastya very much.

Now know this – just because you didn't get somewhere doesn't mean you're out of luck.

Nastya was a responsible girl, so there were no complaints about her. She had no problem taking clients until late in the evening – she had no one to meet anyway. Of course, she didn't have any girlfriends yet either, although she tried to get acquainted just to socialize. But in a big city, that, strangely enough, is not so easy.

And then there was this one client who's been coming in a lot. He wanted his tummy, his face, and everything! Naturally, Nastya guessed that the reason was her.

And then, finally, he asked her out for coffee! The man was clearly older, though he looked very good. Probably about 46 years old.

He looked after himself carefully. His name was Yasha. Of course, Nastya was confused by the age difference, but, in general, she had never met anyone on purpose, and here she was invited somewhere. Why not go?

Yasha took her to one of the most expensive cafes in town. Downtown, of course. And it was nice. And the atmosphere was pleasant, and Yasha was generally talkative and quite an interesting conversationalist. He told a lot of things and about something. But, on the whole, it was not boring.

Then he invited her to the theater. And then, of course, they went out to eat – and again everything was expensive and beautiful.

And both times there was no hint of continuing the banquet – and this also bought Nastya off. A serious man, she thought.

Then they went to the exhibition. And then, after the exhibition, again to an expensive, very nice place. And then – well, it had to be like that! Literally leaving the restaurant, she somehow stumbled and … Shit – "I think I broke my ankle" – Nastya realized that she couldn't step on her foot anymore. "Well, how could it be," Nastya lamented. Yasha picked her up in his arms, took her to the trauma center, sat there, asked for the most comfortable cast, even paid something extra, took her home, took her up to her apartment, helped her with her bag and even offered to help her undress.

Here Nastya stopped him and told him that she could manage on her own and that the ankle fracture was not very serious and that she was quite capable. Yasha offered his help many times, but in the end, after Nastya's insistence that she could manage on her own, he left, but an hour later he called to ask how she was doing. Nastia had even managed to partially bathe, so she was doing fine. She had the painkillers, so she managed to sleep. Still from the trauma center, she sent a message to her landlady that she would definitely not be able to go to work tomorrow, but she would try in two weeks – she realized that in two weeks the bone would already be sufficiently healed and she, partially sitting on a chair, would be able to work.