“Glass is a paradox,” he once said to me, his voice carrying the weight of both ambition and introspection. “Fragile yet enduring. It reflects, refracts, protects, and reveals. Much like life itself.”

Those words stayed with me. Konstantin’s foresight was unmatched. He anticipated shifts in energy conservation and food production long before others dared to dream of such things. His company’s stock soared as he implemented energy-efficient methods and expanded into sustainable practices. Yet, what set him apart was his uncanny ability to balance the material and the ethereal. Beneath the sharp precision of a businessman beat the heart of an artist, a poet, and a dreamer.

THE WEIGHT OF THE PAST, THE FIRE OF CREATION

My own family’s legacy was not unfamiliar with glass. My grandfather, after the war, had been sent to rebuild a glass factory, pouring his resilience and creativity into every piece. As Konstantin recounted his early years to me, I couldn’t help but see parallels between him and my grandfather. Both men believed in the transformative power of their craft, imbuing it with a sense of purpose far beyond its practical use.

“A house cannot truly be a home without water and a garden,” I told Konstantin one evening as we walked through one of his projects. “Concrete and stone are not enough. There has to be something alive within it.”

He paused, considering my words. “You’re right,” he said. “The soul of a building is in its light, its water, its breath. I try to design with that in mind.”

A VISION BEYOND BUSINESS

Parallel to his work with glass and water, Konstantin ventured into construction. Unlike many of his contemporaries, who were content to churn out monotonous buildings devoid of personality, Konstantin approached each project with an artist’s eye and a philosopher’s heart. He wasn’t merely erecting structures; he was shaping spaces meant to inspire.

One project, in particular, held a special place in his heart – a dilapidated 18th-century estate that he dreamed of restoring to its former grandeur.

“It’s not just a building,” he explained to me, his blue eyes alight with passion. “It’s a piece of history, a story waiting to be retold. I see it as a sanctuary for the soul – a place where people can find beauty, even in the smallest details.”

As he described his plans, I couldn’t help but admire the depth of his vision. He thought of everything: the angle of sunlight streaming through ancient windows, the preservation of original colours against the ravages of time, even the way modern glass could protect the fragile façade without altering its authenticity. Years later, I would pass by that building again. By then, it had been turned into a sterile business centre, stripped of the elegance and warmth Konstantin had envisioned. It was a painful reminder of how easily dreams can be overtaken by cold practicality.

THE OFFER THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

“What will my role be?” I asked one evening, unable to hide the trepidation in my voice. Though

I was captivated by Konstantin’s charisma and vision, I was also acutely aware of the magnitude of what he was asking of me.

“I need someone who can manage my time,” he said, his tone both commanding and sincere. “Someone who can oversee special projects, who understands the balance between pragmatism and artistry. Someone who sees the beauty and the possibilities I sometimes overlook.”

His words struck a chord. Manage his time? It was a curious request, almost intimate in its vulnerability. Time, after all, is the one resource no empire can expand.

“I’m surrounded by cold, calculating minds,” he continued. “Wolves, if you will. They help me build my fortress, but they lack the essence of life – the taste of it. I need someone who can bring balance. Someone who can remind me of what it means to truly live.”

For a moment, I was silent, caught between the weight of his request and the gravity of my own ambitions. Konstantin was offering me a leap forward – a chance to step into a role far beyond anything I had imagined for myself. Yet, I couldn’t ignore the complexity of what lay ahead.

“As a lawyer, you’ll do more than you think possible,” he added, sensing my hesitation. “Tomorrow, we meet with representatives from English and Dutch foundations, along with my personal legal team. This project… it’s important to me. And I believe you are the person I’ve been searching for.”

THE LEAP INTO THE UNKNOWN

I didn’t say yes immediately. Konstantin’s words lingered in my mind, echoing long after our conversation had ended. There was an undeniable pull toward him, a magnetic force that both intrigued and unsettled me. He was a lion – majestic, commanding, and at times overwhelming. But I was no prey. If I stepped into his world, it would be as an equal, not a captive.

By the time I finally gave my answer, I had already made peace with the risks. “When do we start?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions within me.

Konstantin’s gaze softened, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something deeper – respect, perhaps even admiration. “We start now,” he said simply.

REFLECTIONS AND RESOLVE

That night, as I sat alone in my room, I opened my journal and began to write. The pen felt heavy in my hand, as though it carried the weight of all that was to come. I thought of my grandfather, rebuilding a shattered factory after the war. I thought of my father, whose dreams had been cut short too soon. And I thought of Konstantin, standing on the precipice of something extraordinary, inviting me to join him.

To dream is to risk, and to risk is to live, I wrote. Perhaps this is the legacy we leave behind – not in the empires we build, but in the courage we summon to chase the impossible.

The path ahead was uncertain, but it was mine to walk. With every step, I would honour the past while forging a future entirely my own.

I have long since refrained from public verse,

Yet lacking words, I do not suffer.

Each day unfolds as a tale, diverse,

A chronicle spun with dreams that buffer.

Prejudices sway my heart anew,

Their weight too great, their pull too stern.

“Too much”—a mantra I oft pursue,

Yet in its shadow, truths I discern.

With honour I abandon this creed,

To embrace a truth more liberating.

I err, yet time remains to heed,

That life is joy in dreams pulsating.

Once, as I sifted through journals past,

I unearthed words from days of sorrow.

“In a city, where river and sky are cast,

A flaxen-haired girl was born of tomorrow.

She cherished the world with radiant delight,

Her joy a beacon, her essence so pure.

Strangers would marvel at her eyes, deep and bright,

As though oceans dwelled there, vast and sure.

‘The girl with ocean eyes,’ they named her so,

Her soul a universe, her spirit untamed.

An artist, in marble, her likeness did show,

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