Chapter 3
I spent the remainder of the night after Mark went to sleep exploring and experimenting. Mark’s apartment was somewhere between disorganized chaos and tidy clutter. It was filled with mismatched second-hand furniture. There were two bookshelves filled with unorganized books, both novels, and textbooks, and stacks of even more books beside them. Most did not seem to have been read recently, except for two books about learning to speak Ukrainian, which seemed freshly and thoroughly read. Shelves covered with unidentifiable metal and plastic collectibles, among which, my old lamp now sat, and walls adorned with facsimile artwork spanning centuries, genres, and mediums, interspersed with several photographs of a family on an apple orchard. It was like an extremely niche and eclectic museum.
I dedicated some time to learning how to interact with Mark’s phone. Mark explained in fundamental terms that programs that made the device useful worked because of some unusual language he called ‘code;’ if I interfered with that, it could stop working entirely. While I understood the fundamental idea behind what he said, this code was invisible to me at this point, so I couldn’t affect it anyway. I learned to interact with the physical aspects and read what I could make appear on the screen. I also discovered that I could inject energy into what he called the battery from the surrounding environment.
I found something called the internet and Mark’s browsing history. I won’t betray his trust by telling you about some of the unique things he found interesting. Let me tell you, Mark had some very eclectic interests that could make the Marquis de Sade blush.
Mark woke up about five hours after falling asleep when his alarm activated at nine a.m., which is when I discovered which connections produced sound. That would prove useful information for our fa?ade of Mark covertly talking to me in the guise of a phone call. When Mark’s alarm sounded, it also displayed his calendar. He didn’t have much planned, just two reminders: lunch with Elijah at the Queen’s Head today, and Elija’s drag show tomorrow evening. It was interesting the only things Mark set scheduled reminders for revolved around his friend Elijah. Also, it was apparently a Friday.
Mark rolled out of bed and grumbled through a very rough morning routine that comprised drinking cold leftover coffee while brewing a fresh pot. By the time he had put on reasonably neat and clean clothes, the fresh pot of coffee was ready. He drank half that pot while he located his shoes, wallet, and keys before he hastily smoothed his hair, brushed his teeth, and groaned loudly into a damp washcloth. Incredibly, this entire process only took him twenty minutes.
Finally, he turned his attention to me, or rather to his phone. He slipped on a sleek and unobtrusive headset that wrapped around his ears and the back of his head. It was almost unnoticeable when he had it on. He later described it as a minimalist bone-conduction headset he liked to use because it didn’t interfere with his hearing. Once he wore that headset, I could finally speak to him comfortably. Comfortably for him, I was perfectly comfortable speaking directly into his mind, but he called that creepy. He picked up his phone, casually swiped through a few notifications, and glanced at several emails, all of which I had already read.
“Good morning, Mark,” I said softly in an attempt to not startle him, in case he forgot about me.
“Morning, Eros, what did you get up to the rest of the night?”
“Oh, I spent the night exploring, and I have questions. You have 241 books, and their organization makes no sense. Of the 53 vinyl records you have, seven are objectively awful. You have shelves of small metal and plastic objects I don’t recognize at all. And…”
“Eros, slow down. Please, I’m still waking up. Those aren’t questions. Can we do this later? I have to go to work.” Mark grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose before picking up his keys and bag and walking out his apartment door.
“Mark, after the volume of coffee you just ingested, I’m amazed you aren’t fully awake. You should be tachycardic. We can chat on your walk. Also, I’m sorry you received a message I don’t think you saw this morning. I was still learning, and I think I deleted it.”
“It was probably junk anyway. Do you remember what it said?”
“Oh, yes. It was from Viktoriya. She is at the Library and says, ‘Mark, help! Laptop again doing that thing.’ I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to delete it. I am still learning. You should probably give her a call.”
“Viktoriya?” The name caught slightly in Mark’s throat, and his heartbeat quickened. “How long ago did that come in? No, never mind, that doesn’t matter. Yes. I should call her.”
I should tell you about Viktoriya Soroka. She is a part-time student at the University and about the same age as me. Viktoriya’s family immigrated from Ukraine five or six years ago. Now, they own and run the Sunflower Kafe, a small café and bakery offering a delicious marriage of the new and old world. She specialized in baking Sochniki—pastries filled with sweetened cheese—and Paska, intricately braided bread. Viktoriya wasn’t content to stick with these classics. Her creativity drove her to experiment. She was working on a “borscht burger” that she insisted would be a big hit. Her family teased her lovingly for it, but I admire her ambition; it’s contagious.
Viktoriya had a beauty that was hard to describe in simple terms, the kind that lingered in memory long after she walked away. Her skin was luminous, like porcelain lit softly from within, smooth and unblemished except for the occasional faint smudge of flour or powdered sugar after a busy morning in the café. Her crimson red hair fell in silken waves around her soft, round face, contrasting her large, impossibly deep, strikingly sapphire-blue eyes. Two deep pools that seemed to hold stories of the rise and fall of empires behind them. Her slightly upturned button nose gave her an air of sweetness, but it was her lips that were genuinely captivating. Shockingly full and perfectly heart-shaped when painted and pursed, her lips could tilt into a smile so deliberate and teasing that it seemed designed to leave people flustered.
As striking as it is, Viktoriya’s beauty was not what I find most interesting about her. Yes, she’s a woman everyone can’t help but notice, but what lingers is something else entirely. It’s the way she makes people feel when they’re around her, like they’re the only person in the room, and she sees them even when they’re not trying to be seen. She is impossibly kind, but I think ‘kind’ sells her short. Kindness is too small a word for someone who could tease you until you laugh, charm you until you forget your worries, and then turn around and leave you wondering what secrets she kept behind that alluring smile. She had a gentle confidence that didn’t need to shout to be heard. She carried herself with subtle grace, but there was a spark of mischief in her eyes, a wit that could catch people off guard if they weren’t paying attention, especially if they underestimated her.
Viktoriya’s life was a careful balancing act. She studied at the University and helped keep the family café running, kneading dough, taking orders, and smiling through the exhaustion of trying to do too much at once. She also poured herself into her true dream: to start her own fashion and costume design business. She told me once how she stayed up late, sketching bold designs and pinning fabric swatches together. She allowed me to see her sketches once when I noticed her fingers stained with ink. I know little about costume design or fashion, yet her striking and creative designs amazed me. Her mind was alive with ideas. She dreamed big—runways, stages, and pieces that told stories with every stitch—and she would not stop until she made it happen.
To top it off and complete the picture, a gentle pride in her Ukrainian heritage wove itself into everything she did. She wore blouses she hand-embroidered with a small sunflower or trident. She even kept a little sunflower pendant around her neck, a token of where she came from and where she was going. She loved her family fiercely, though the weight of their expectations often clashed with her own ambitions. She loved the café, but didn’t want to spend her life there. She wanted more, and I suspect the struggle between honoring her roots and forging her path was something she didn’t share with many people.
I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and quickly found the message Eros thought they had deleted. I promptly read it and called her with a few taps while taking several slow, deep breaths. But when it started ringing, I subconsciously held my breath for some reason, slowly releasing it when a smoldering voice with the distinctly melodic cadence of a Ukrainian accent answered.
“Mark, dear. You got my message?”
“Hello, Viktoriya. Good morning. Yes, I received your message. Is your laptop causing you trouble again?” My voice faltered slightly, fluctuating between familiar, friendly, and starkly professional.
“Good morning, my dear. I am sorry. I send message so early. I come to Library to write paper for class. Junky laptop, it is not behaving now. You remember?”
“You don’t ever need to be sorry to send me a message, no matter how early or late. Of course, I remember Viktoriya. You’re hard to forget. I MEAN your problem is hard to forget. Your eyes, I mean your screen. Sorry, I’m still waking up. This semester just started a few days ago, and your laptop is already acting up again? Unbelievable, I’m so sorry. Wait there; I will be at the Library in a few minutes.”
“Mark, come here. I wake you properly, yes? I am waiting for you.” Viktoriya giggled before abruptly ending the call before I could respond.
I stared at my phone and wanted to respond, but I had no words in my flummoxed mind, even if I could. Instead, I exhaled quickly and turned toward the campus library with a nervous spring in my step.
At a quick pace, it was only a few minutes or less from the end of the phone call to when I walked through the library doors. Just inside, at a bank of work desks, sat Viktoriya. She stared directly at the doorway with an ever-so-slightly mischievous smirk that deepened slightly the moment she saw me. But the moment she recognized that I saw her, the smirk turned into a deliberately playful pout.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Mark! Dear. Come here, my hero,” Viktoriya said with a wink and without the slightest attempt at quiet subtlety.
“Mark,” Eros whispered in my headset. “Is that Viktoriya?”
“Yeup,” I whispered in reply while quickly stepping toward Viktoriya. As I approached Viktoriya, her playful pout resolved into a heart-melting smile while I returned a goofy, dumb-looking grin.
“OH, I see. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Viktoriya, what did that nasty laptop do this time?”
“Mark, please, come look.”
“All right, let me take a look,” I said, stepping closer to Viktoriya. Instead of ceding the space, she just looked up at me and welcomed me into her space, sending my stomach into my chest. Trying to remain professional, I ignored her gaze and leaned down to look at the laptop; its screen was flashing on and off intermittently. I turned my face to say something, and my eyes met Viktoriya’s. She held me there for a moment until I involuntarily blushed and straightened up quickly.
“I’m sorry, Viktoriya, I think it’s inoperable. We’re going to have to put it down.”
“You joke? You tease me now? I have paper due. What I should do now?”
“I do tease you. I can fix this, but it will take me a few hours at least, maybe most of the day. I can lend you my laptop for the day to write your paper. Do you have your files saved to the Uni cloud?”
“Dear. You. Are. Marvelous. Yes, I save to clouds. Take this junk, please. I borrow yours, da? You come to Kafe later to retrieve it, after junky is fix. I give you something to eat. Put good thing in your mouth. I am sorry, paper is due. I write now, okay?”
“Da, Viktoriya, da. Here, my laptop is already connected to the university network. Your login should work, and your files should sync just fine. I’ll get junky fixed up for you in no time. I’ll see you this afternoon at your café,” Mark said with a goofy grin while he traded laptops with Viktoriya.
“My dear. You are saint. Go now, busy boy. Work, work!”
As I turned and walked, I laughed, a light-hearted, almost giddy, idiotic giggle. I could see Viktoriya shooing me away with her hands in my peripheral vision. I could also see the same slightly mischievous smirk she had met me with.
“So, THAT was Viktoriya. Oh, Mark. You are in trouble,” Eros commented with a hint of bemusement in his tone as I skipped back to my temporary office.
Mark told me about Viktoriya last night, and it was apparent to me that Mark had not exaggerated his descriptions of her in the least. She is a girl whose name alone was enough to make him flush and stumble over his words. He tried to downplay it—calling her “one of his frequent customers,” someone he occasionally helped with her second-hand laptop—but it was evident his feelings ran much deeper. There was warmth in how he spoke about her, an almost involuntary softening of his voice. While Mark described it as a “burgeoning crush,” I could see it for what it really was: the beginnings of something more.
Mark didn’t say as much, but I could tell her presence had truly captivated him. She teased Mark when she called him “dear” in her lilting Ukrainian accent, tilting her head slightly to watch him squirm. Beneath the charm and teasing, there was something more profound. She watched him like a famished woman watching dinner arrive at the table. Unless I’m uncharacteristically wrong, which is unlikely. She was blatantly flirting with him. I doubt Mark even realized it, but I could hear it in her words and now see it in her eyes. This was someone who enjoyed seeing the effect she had on him. While she waited for him to walk through the door, she left it open as an invitation.
Cultivating this relationship may prove simple. The roots of attraction and mutual respect were already established. Mark should only need a firm nudge in the right direction. His subtle charm and open heart will not be enough on their own to win Viktoriya’s heart if that is what he desires. From what I just observed, he very much does. He will need a shove out of his comfort zone and meet her in the dazzling world she’s creating for herself and, in turn, invite her into his. I, of course, intend to help him do exactly that.
“It’ll be fine, Eros. It’s just the screen. I have a replacement. I ordered it for her last week, and it arrived two days ago. It’s not too difficult, just a little time-consuming.”
“That is not what I’m talking about. You could have asked me to take a look. I am pretty sure I could have fixed it. Imagine how impressed she would be to see you ‘work your magic.’ Plus, I might remind you that it was a library, and you were supposed to take me there and let me do some reading.”
“Dammit, you’re right. That would have been impressive. I just can’t think so good when she looks at me like that. I mean, I’m sure she looks at everyone like that; it’s nothing special. It’s just her eyes…”
“Mark. You’re an idiot. If you don’t mind, can you take me back soon?”
“I’ll tell you what. We’ve got a small workspace in the Library where we set up a couple times a week, usually around midterms or finals, to help students quickly. Let me grab the parts and tools I need from my office, and we can go back to the Library. You can browse while I fix Viktoriya’s laptop.”
“Well, dammit, Mark, that is a good idea. Now, let’s talk about Viktoriya.”
“What about her?”
“I’m not unobservant. In case you forgot, this is an area of expertise for me. You like her a lot.”
“I do. She’s beautiful and fascinating, but she’s a student, and I work for the University. Plus, I doubt she would be interested in me.”
“Again, you’re an idiot, Mark. She is most definitely interested in you.”
“Wait, what?” Mark stopped walking just outside his office building. “Are you serious about that?”
“Of course I am. Just think about it. I mean, really think about it.”
Mark grunted and seemed to retreat internally, reflecting on Viktoriya and how she interacted with him. He did this while robotically entering his office and collecting the parts and tools he would need. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t even acknowledge his friend and coworker watching him.
“Mark?” O.T. inquired again, this time with a wave. “You okay, buddy?”
“OH, yeah. Sorry, O.T.,” Mark replied, shaking off his daze. “I was just lost in my own head for a minute. I’ve got to replace Viktoriya’s laptop screen.”
“AH, say no more. I understand where your head is. But why are you packing up?”
“I’m going to use the workshop in the Library. I left Viktoriya there with my laptop to work on a paper. I figure if I can get this fixed up quickly, I might catch her before she leaves.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t want a perfect excuse to go visit her later in the day. Where you could do something like ask her out, maybe,” O.T. said, obviously amused, teasing Mark. “Because you clearly want to based on how talk about her and jump every time she calls you, and only you. That is unless you think it would bother Elijah who is not your boyfriend.”
“Son of a bitch. O.T., I can’t even start to point out everything wrong with that,” Mark said to O.T., sounding desperate to avoid the subject. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah, you do, buddy. And not just on that laptop.”
“Okay. Have a good day. I’ll see you later,” Mark sighed, quickly retreating with the needed parts and tools in his bag.
“See? I’m not the only one that sees it, Mark,” I admonished him as soon as Mark stepped into the elevator.
“Yeah, hey, can we not talk on the walk? I need to think for a few minutes.”
“Sure, Mark.”
We walked back to the Library in silence. Walking into the Library, we spotted Viktoriya, head down, working on her paper. Mark paused for just a moment. I suspect he thought about talking to her, but he made the right decision not to interrupt her. Instead, he turned and walked down the stairs into a small office space.
“I’m going to explore the books and do some reading while you get started here,” I said to Mark as he unlocked the door. “I will be back soon, and we can talk about you asking that girl out.”
“Sure thing, Eros, you know where to find me,” Mark replied as he switched the lights on and cleared off the desk.
I hopped around the Library for a while, brushing up on history. I even looked for records of some very old friends to find out how their stories ended. I found a few, but not as many as I would have liked. I learned many fascinating new things; I watched Viktoriya for a while and generally stretched my wings or legs metaphorically because I don’t have legs or wings. But as I have said before, this is not my story; it’s Mark’s.
I hopped through the Library walls, making my back to Mark as quickly as possible, which was impressively quick by human measures. I found Mark exactly where I left him. Hunched over the desk, Viktoriya’s laptop was neatly knolled in pieces before him. It was apparent he was intensely focused on something tiny and delicate. He was manipulating thin, short wires with a pair of long tweezers in each hand. What Mark did not know was that Viktoriya was walking down the stairs, heading this way right now. I know how easy it is to startle Mark; it would be awful if Viktoriya accidentally startled him right now. Unfortunately, there was very little I could do to help; I did not know what Mark was trying to do because I decided to explore instead of staying with him.
“Mark,” I whispered gently in his headset. “Don’t be alarmed. Viktoriya is heading this way.”
“Thank you, Eros. Is there any chance you know how to close the door?”
“Door? What’s a door? OH, if only I had hands,” I may have laid on the sarcasm a little thick while I gave the door hinges a nudge, closing the door. “Look at that, guess I figured it out. That was fun. Let’s go close more doors, Mark!”
“Ha. Ha. Poor choice of words, now shush. This is the tricky part.”
I watched Mark manipulate very tiny wires with tweezers, connecting pieces together and working with ridiculously restrictive tolerances. From a distance, it looked like magic. Up close, it was just like watching someone plug in a toaster with chopsticks. Mark completed the connections and pressed a few microscopic plastic clips back into place just as Viktoriya knocked and opened the door.
