CHAPTER 4 – THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The place was packed.
Laughter, clinking plates, and the smell of freshly grilled meat and toasted buns wrapped the space in a warmth that felt almost unreal.
Soft, nostalgic music played in the background, blending with the ambient chatter to create an artificial bubble of peace—while outside, beyond the glass, the city slowly sank into the coming dusk.

Clink.

The door's opening sound vanished into the noise.

Vik and Alexei stepped inside, shaking the dampness from their jackets, and took a seat by the window.
From there, the sky offered a silent show: thick clouds looming above, swollen with a storm that hadn’t yet arrived, but already seemed to breathe down on them.

Inside, though… it was warmth.
Safe. Almost surreal.

Vik settled into his seat in silence, gaze fixed on the street.
Alexei, on the other hand, fidgeted with a wrinkled napkin while pretending to read the menu—but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

—Welcome! What can I get you today?
A soft, bright voice cut through the scene with a fresh rhythm.

In front of them stood a smiling waitress, notepad in hand.
Dark, shiny hair. Neat uniform. A light presence, like the air before a storm. A metallic name tag glinted on her chest: Katya.

Alexei blinked. Then stammered,
—Uhh… uh… a burger, please...

Vik raised an eyebrow, holding back laughter.
—Now I know why you wanted to come here, he teased openly.

Katya smiled warmly, noticing the sudden blush flooding Alexei’s face.
—Alright. One burger. And for you?

—Same as my friend —Vik replied with a half chuckle.

With a quick wink, the waitress walked off toward the kitchen.

—So... were the burgers the only good thing here? —Vik asked, eyebrow arched.

—OF COURSE! —Alexei blurted, red-faced, defensive to a comical degree.

Vik laughed more freely now.
—Heh… I thought you were more of a food guy.

Just a moment.
But long enough to forget—if only for a second—the uncertainty they’d carried in with them.

The burgers arrived soon after.
Big. Juicy. Perfectly stacked.
Lightly toasted buns, sizzling patties, mouthwatering aroma.

Katya reappeared with the tray, moving gracefully as if it were second nature.
—Enjoy, boys, she said, placing the plates with genuine warmth.

—Th-thank you… —Alexei managed, still blushing.

Katya chuckled softly and slipped away between the tables, as smoothly as she’d arrived.

Vik leaned back slightly, arms crossed and wearing a crooked smile.
—Now I really get why you’re so into this place...

Alexei avoided eye contact, staring at his plate like the burger was a life-or-death mission.

They both dug in.

Crunch.

The bun crackled softly between teeth.

The silence between them didn’t last long—only broken by satisfied chewing and the occasional pleased sigh.

—Mmm… these are better than I expected —Vik said, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

—Definitely! —Alexei replied, noticeably more relaxed now.

For a moment, the outside world didn’t matter.
The layoffs. The uncertain future. The coming storm.
All stayed outside this scene.

Inside the joint, the warmth, the food, and the faint smoke haze created an invisible dome.
A necessary pause in the most unexpected of days.

And so, between bites and unspoken jokes, the weight of the world felt… a little lighter.

In a corner of the restaurant, perched on a dusty shelf,
a slim-framed television drew attention without asking for it.
The volume was low, but the anchor’s tone said everything.

—“Rising tensions at the border… Reports of unrest in eastern regions. The government claims the situation is under control…”

His voice was neutral. So neutral, it was unsettling.
As if repeating the words enough times might silence the fear.

Vik looked up. Alexei did too.
The screen flickered with gray images—maps lit in red, military convoys snaking through dusty roads.
A visual language whispering war.

The soft jazz still played in the background—
but now it felt out of place.

The restaurant’s warmth couldn’t block the chill creeping from that screen.

Vik set his napkin aside. His plate was empty.
His gaze had sharpened, though that usual spark still lingered.

—The day goes on... —he murmured— but something in the air feels different.

Alexei said nothing. Just nodded slightly,
as if a part of him felt it too.

They sat in silence a few seconds longer.
The kind of silence that settles in when something unseen breaks in the air.

Vik leaned forward, arms folded on the table.
His gaze, now locked on Alexei, was steady but calm.

—So... what now?
No job, no backup plan.
Everything we knew just went down the drain...

There was no drama in his tone.
Just a clear, steady weariness.
The kind that belongs to someone who thinks instead of panicking.

Alexei didn’t answer right away.
He rolled a napkin between his fingers, squeezing it like he could hold onto something already gone.

—I don’t know... —he muttered at last.
How are we supposed to find anything this good again?
It was always stable…
His voice cracked slightly on that last word.

Vulnerability, rare in him, slipped through the silence between pauses.

Vik didn’t interrupt. Just watched him closely.
Then leaned in further, his expression steady with a calm resolve.

—Listen, brother, —he said, voice firm—
we’ve been through worse, haven’t we?
Yeah, they fired us...
but that doesn’t mean it’s over.

The city’s full of opportunities.
People like us.
Honestly… I wouldn’t be surprised if we found something better. And soon.

It wasn’t empty optimism. It was conviction.
And that’s what made it sink in.

Alexei looked up.
For the first time in a while, his eyes held more than frustration.

Maybe… a flicker of hope.

—Hope you’re right… —he whispered.
What’s the plan? Start from scratch? Look anywhere?

Vik didn’t hesitate.
—Exactly.
We go after what we really want this time.

And there it was again.
That quiet fire Vik could always spark when everything else was falling apart.

A simple statement.
A new starting point.

Outside, the city darkened behind the glass…
and without knowing it, they had already begun building something new.

Vik turned his gaze to the window.
The first raindrops began tapping the glass—slow, scattered…
as if the storm were hesitating to fall completely.

Tap… tap… tap...

The gentle rhythm wove itself into the muffled background of the restaurant.
The droplets slid down, distorting the city’s outlines like the world outside was slowly melting away.

Life outside went on, as always.
But now it felt more distant.
More gray.
As if a layer of silence had settled over everything.

—Something’s changing… —Vik murmured.
—But it’s not the only thing that’s going to change.

Alexei heard him but didn’t answer.
Just nodded with the faintest movement of his head.

Then Vik stood up, calm and steady as always.
He grabbed his backpack.

—Alright, —he said— time to head home. We’ve had enough excitement for one morning.

Alexei followed without question.
—You’re right. Let’s go.

The table was left behind.
Empty plates, soft music, the echo of an unfinished conversation.

And as they stepped outside, the sound of the rain began to rise—
as if the city itself had chosen that moment to start anew.

As they passed by the counter, Alexei slowed down.

His eyes met Katya’s.
She was clearing glasses with graceful movements, her dark uniform contrasting with her bright smile.
Her hair framed her face perfectly, and her warm eyes seemed to read more than anyone ever said.

Alexei cleared his throat. Awkward. Hesitant.

—U-uh… thanks. The burgers were… amazing.

Katya looked at him for a second, her expression sweet with a hint of mischief.

—Take care, boys! —she replied, her voice soft enough to wrap the moment in calm.

That smile... wouldn’t be forgotten easily.

At the door, Vik turned just in time to catch the scene.

An arched eyebrow. A teasing grin.

—Did you just blush?

Alexei spun around, eyes wide like he’d been shot.

—No! No!

Vik burst out laughing, trying to contain it.
His chuckle echoed through the doorway as both of them stepped outside.

CHAK.

The door closed behind them.
And the world was full of rain again.

Sometimes, the best way to face the chaos… is with a smile.
And in those moments, the smallest jokes between friends are all you need to keep going.

The rain was pouring hard now.

TAC-TAC-TAC!

Raindrops hit the pavement, the windows, Vik’s soaked jacket like tiny rounds of shrapnel.

The sky had burst without asking.

At his doorstep, hair dripping, clothes clinging like a second skin, Vik jammed the key into the lock.
A sharp twist. A soft metallic creak…

CLACK.

He shoved the door open and slammed it behind him.

THUMP.

Inside, the silence was thick.
Only the muffled hum of the storm leaking through the walls…
…and the slow drip of his jacket onto the floor.

Ploc. Ploc. Ploc.

The apartment smelled like old wood and well-worn routines.
Warm light.
Enough to break the hostility of the outside.

—Did Anya take her umbrella...? —he muttered as the door rattled softly in the wind.

A cold drop slid down his neck.
He shivered.

With mechanical movements, he bent down and pulled off his soaked boots.

CHOF.

He left them by the door.
The wooden floor creaked under his bare feet—almost comforting.

He sighed.

Long. Deep. Like letting go of everything the day had piled on.

He glanced around.

The same old living room: shelves of tools, dim lamp, worn-out couch…
All the same.
And yet… somehow different.

Without another thought, he headed to the bathroom.

His wet clothes left an almost invisible trail behind him,
as if the storm had followed him inside.

Click.

The door closed softly.

Steam swallowed the bathroom in seconds.
The walls fogged up, the mirror vanished behind a warm mist...
and Vik became just a blurred silhouette behind the semi-transparent curtain.

SHHHHHHHHH…

Hot water poured over his shoulders in a constant, hypnotic rhythm—
like the whole world was trying to rinse itself off his skin.

Vik closed his eyes.
Let himself be soaked.
He wasn’t thinking.
He was just feeling the weight of the day dissolve,
drop by drop, down his spine.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Water echoed against the tiles, covering everything else.
For the first time in hours, his mind was quiet.
No noise.
No questions.
No anger.
Just silence.
A humid, heavy, real silence.

He leaned against the wall.
His breathing slow, in sync with the steam.

SHHHHH…

In that moment, wrapped in heat and fog,
Vik wasn’t the guy who just got fired.
Not the worried brother.
Not the train station technician.

He was just… someone tired.
Someone who needed this moment more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Steam still clung to everything.

Wrapped in just a towel around his waist,
Vik slowly slid his palm across the foggy mirror.

SHHHHK…

The glass revealed his reflection:
Unkempt.
Quiet.
Real.

His damp hair hung low over his forehead, sticking down like even the strands had given up.

But his eyes—
still amber, still intense—
held something unshaken.

He stared at himself. Unblinking.
Like he needed to remember who he was.

—Sometimes I forget what I’m capable of… even if it doesn’t look like it, —he whispered, barely audible.

His jaw clenched for a second.
Then relaxed.

No anger.
No self-pity.
Just truth.

GOT… GOT…

A drop slid down his neck. Another across his chest.

The bathroom no longer felt like a retreat.
It felt like a threshold.
A line drawn between what had ended… and what was about to begin.

Vik stepped away from the mirror.
His reflection stayed behind, swallowed once again by steam.

A shadow that chose to remain in the past.

16:50.

The tick-tock of the wall clock was almost the only sound.

Now dressed in a dark shirt and comfy pants, Vik glanced at the pile of unwashed dishes.

—Better clean up. Don’t want Anya coming home in rage… —he muttered with a half-smile.

CLAC.

He tied on the apron with practiced ease and stepped up to the sink.

The water started flowing.

SHHHHH…

Plates clinked softly as they bumped together,
a small domestic symphony that somehow made the room feel more alive.

Soap and warm water curled into slow, lazy spirals.
The kitchen light—soft and golden—grazed the countertop like it, too, wanted to help him unwind.

Outside, rain still fell, now slower,
crawling down the window like tears too tired to move quickly.

Plic… Plic…

Vik lifted his gaze for a moment.
The sky, once gray and imposing, was beginning to give in.

—At least this… is under control.

The words floated in the air with no one to hear.
More of a hope than a statement.

As the last plate sat clean and drying, Vik dried his hands and grabbed his phone.

20:03.

His expression shifted.

He stared at the screen in silence.

His brow furrowed immediately.

—Anya should be home by now…

The comforting silence suddenly felt heavier.
Thicker.

Like the whole apartment stopped breathing.

With a quick swipe, he hit the call icon.
Held the phone to his ear.

Tuuut… Tuuut…

Nothing.

The wait pricked at his chest like invisible needles.

Tuuut…

Click.

—Hi, this is Anya. I can’t come to the phone. Leave a message.

BEEP.

Vik lowered the phone slowly.
Didn’t leave a message.

His jaw tensed.
A flicker of worry in his amber eyes.

—What’s going on? This isn’t like her…

Then the phone buzzed in his hand.

BZZZT.

A notification lit up the screen:

Don’t worry, Vik. I’m fine. Work just ran late. I’ll be home soon. 😘

Vik exhaled sharply.

—Thank god… —he muttered with a smile he wasn’t quite ready to admit.

The emoji—
that tiny detail—
calmed him more than he’d care to say.

He typed back quickly:

Okay. Be careful. See you soon.

Set the phone on the table.

Tac.

Then slumped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.

—I just hope everything’s really okay… —he whispered to himself.

He looked out the window again.
The rain had softened.

The wet streets reflected the amber glow of streetlamps,
as if Moscow itself were trying to smile through the cold.

But something… something still didn’t feel right.

Vik sighed.

—She’s working too much lately…

His eyes, still fixed on the warped reflections outside, turned serious.

—What’s really going on in there?

CLAP.

With renewed resolve, he put the apron back on.

—Let’s get to work, —he said.
And headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen welcomed him with its usual, comforting silence—
broken only by the faint hum of the fridge and the soft click of the light switch.

Vik opened the pantry and started scanning the shelves.

—Let’s see what’s left…

He pulled out some potatoes, a few veggies, and began peeling with practiced hands.
There was no rush.
Just the quiet rhythm of habit.

Clac. Clac. Clac.

The knife struck the cutting board with steady precision.

Steam began to rise from the pot, painting soft fog over the windowpane.

Outside, the city remained beneath the rain.
But inside, the kitchen filled with a warm, familiar aroma—
the kind that made the world a little easier to bear.

—She’ll be starving when she gets back… —he muttered without thinking.

Once done, he served himself a generous plate.
Then carefully packed a second portion—
more generous, more meticulous—into a clean tupperware container.

He sealed it tightly, as if locking in a promise.
Placed it on the counter, right where she always dropped her bag.

—For you, —he whispered, almost with a smile.

Carrying his own plate, he walked to the living room.
Turned on the TV without checking the channel.

A quiet murmur of voices filled the space,
just enough to make the silence feel less... empty.

Vik sat down on the couch.

FLOP.

The cushion sagged under his weight.

He ate slowly. Not out of hunger, but habit.
His eyes lingered, distant, as thoughts floated without shape.

He finished.
Set the plate aside.
Leaned back.

The TV flickered, casting blue and white light across his face.

His eyelids began to droop.

First a slow blink.
Then another.
Until finally… his body gave in.

Zzz...

Vik fell asleep on the couch, head tilted, arm dangling,
his face completely relaxed.

As if, for a moment, the storm really had stayed outside.

Click.

The lock turned softly.
The door opened slowly, letting in a gust of cold air and a few stray raindrops that splashed across the threshold.

Anya stepped in, dragging her feet slightly.
She closed the door gently behind her.

Clack.

She was exhausted.

Her body spoke louder than words:
Tense shoulders, hair slightly out of place, a bag dangling from one arm,
dark circles under her eyes.

But on her face…
there was something more.

A quiet breath.
Relief.
The kind that only comes from coming home.

She shrugged off her coat in one practiced motion and hung it near the door.

The apartment’s silence wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
Only the soft hum of the TV filled the space.

Then she saw him.

Vik—completely sprawled out on the couch.
One leg hanging off, head tilted back, mouth slightly open.

The scene was so ridiculous, Anya had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

She tiptoed closer, her gaze soft.

The television cast blue flickers over his sleeping face,
as if the whole world had paused just for this.

“What are we going to do with you…”

The thought crossed her mind, carried by a smile laced with exhaustion and affection.

For a moment, all the stress from her day melted.

She was home.
With him.
And that was enough.

The kitchen welcomed her with its familiar amber glow,
as if it knew she needed it most tonight.

Anya stepped in slowly, setting her bag on the counter.

Her footsteps barely echoed across the clean floor
as her eyes wandered—familiar corners, well-worn drawers…

And then she saw it.

Right in the center of the counter.
A tupperware container, sealed with care.

Beside it, a neatly folded napkin.

Nothing else.

And yet—nothing more was needed.

Anya stopped.

Her shoulders dropped a little,
as if the weight of the day had started to slip away.

She stepped closer.
Picked up the container with both hands.

It was still warm.

—Thank god I’ve got you… —she whispered, smiling faintly.

No note.
None needed.

It was the kind of silent message shared only between people who had lived too much to explain everything.

Anya sat at the table with the container in her hands—
as if it were an offering.

She opened it slowly.

The familiar scent of the stew rose up like an embrace.

This is Vik.

Not the meal itself.
But the care behind it.
The moment.
The gesture.

She glanced toward the living room.

Vik was still asleep. Head tilted, one hand over his stomach.
The TV flickered, washing his face in pale light.

And for the first time that day…

Anya exhaled.
And felt no burden.
Only gratitude.

—Thanks, little idiot… —she murmured, amused.

The world outside might’ve been falling apart.
But in this warm corner of Moscow, in this exact moment—
everything was in its place.

Anya took the first bite in silence.
The food was good. Simple. Homemade.
Nothing extraordinary—except for one thing:
It had been made for her.

She chewed slowly.
The kitchen light bathed her face in soft amber tones.
Each motion was unhurried, as if breaking the stillness left behind by Vik would’ve been a sin.

From her seat, she could still see him.

There—curled up on the couch, mouth slightly open, hair a bit messy.
His expression: calm.
And for her… that was enough.

“He tries so hard to act strong... but I know when he’s carrying too much.”

The TV was still on, projecting pale blue flashes across the walls,
like the city outside was still trying to sneak into their little safe zone.

Anya rested her elbow on the table, her cheek against her hand.

She chewed slowly, her gaze fixed on her brother.
She said nothing.
But her eyes spoke volumes.

Gratitude.
Love.
Fatigue.
Worry.

Clink.

Her spoon tapped gently against the bottom of the container.
She closed the lid carefully and placed it back on the counter.

Then, quietly—almost floating through the dim apartment—
she walked to the couch.

Vik didn’t move.

She leaned down,
brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead with gentle fingers—
as if the motion itself deserved reverence.

—You need to take care of yourself too, okay? —she whispered, barely audible.

One last look.
One final gesture.

Then she turned and—click—turned off the television.

Silence.

The apartment sank into a calm twilight,
lit only by the soft orange glow of the streetlamps outside filtering through the window.

And with that quiet, intimate, honest scene…

The day came to an end.