[Adastra, Luxomoris. Mini-market 'Modosiste', morning]
Having a stash of empty coffee cans in the glove compartment, Ostin slowly drank the last drops from one of them. The car was parked by the market. He waited eagerly for her. His heart seemed to tighten from the intensity of the waiting itself.
Naturally for his mind, he caught himself thinking how meaningless it all was — to act on impulse, being a pragmatic lawyer who built his life on rationality and articles of the code.
But he couldn't get their first meeting out of his head, nor the moment when she truly took him — such a serious man — for a taxi driver, nor the long conversation on the way. Something inside him shattered then — once and for all.
Just think: only yesterday he denied this reality, and today — he is already pretending to be in another profession. He re-registered in the taxi system, passed the verification, attached his old driver's license — funny enough, the system still accepted it. Apparently, the old database hadn't been wiped. With the same cold precision he used when drafting lawsuits, he reactivated his old profile. He even mounted the old TAXI sign on the roof — for credibility's sake.
And for what reason, one wonders, would a man who clawed his way, blood and nerve, to earn a name and status in the legal world — return to that long-trodden path? Ostin couldn't find the answer, he could only feel it.
[In a world of skepticism and pragmatism, hope will live beyond the age]
When the morning coffee was gone, Braun lifted the lid to make sure once again. Annoying. He sighed, his shoulders sank a little, and he looked back the market — as if his entire day depended on it. She wasn't there. So where was she now? Could anything be more important? Maybe she was with someone... or was that "someone" with her?
— Someone... — Braun didn't want to say his name aloud — not even let it surface in his thoughts. His fingers instinctively tightened around the steering wheel; his vision blurred, the focus slipping away.
And suddenly — a dull knock on the car door. Ostin jerked around — his heart jumped, and then he simply melted. It felt as though the very air inside the car had suddenly warmed.
It was her — like an angel descended straight from the heavens. The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled — and for an instant, it seemed the very air quivered. But it wasn't a sweet girlish smile... it was predatory... like Mark's... Mark again! Why did that guy keep invading Ostin's thoughts at the most illogical moments?!
Ostin observed her again — like the rarest painting in a gallery, with almost childlike curiosity and the mature awareness of someone who understood exactly who stood before him.
At first glance, she was an ordinary girl, as beautiful as many others. But there was something different about her...
Her long, straight hair — the color of midnight silk with a faint blue shimmer under the sun — stirred softly in the wind, as if imprinting her very aliveness on the air. Her eyes — dark brown, almond-shaped, sharp, like those of a predator used to tracing every subtle movement of its prey without ever looking away.
Her lips were finely drawn, with a faint knowing curve; her eyebrows — slender, like those of old Hollywood stars. It seemed she had run away straight out of an olf film — refusing to make peace with the modern world.
A fine tattoo ran along her supple neck: 'Mom Dad', framed by a pulse line, half a heart, and a wing... Yet something felt wrong. As if it had nothing to do with love... and why was 'Mom' apart from 'Dad'? From the outside, it looked like a simple remembrance, but it seemed more like an oath. To whom, though?
Her fingers glimmered with black polish speckled with glitter, her half-hidden beneath leather fingerless gloves — did she always wear them? Ostin hesitated... and it seemed like yes. Then why?
A set of motorcycle keys hung from the metal buckle of her belt — now Braun realized the source of that faint sound. Her body was athletic, taut, yet deliberately concealed beneath layers of fabric.
And yet, it went beyond posture or form — everything about her breathed freedom. The kind of breath Ostin hadn't taken since the very first chapter of his life. Because he was suffocating himself.
Perhaps that is why Ostin saw in her more than just a woman. Many would think of a muse, a dream, or a future wife. And I answer you: I saw such a look once, and it is easy to confuse it with vanilla novels about eternal love. But come on — cast off superficiality like the last chains!
No, in that look... There simultaneously hid mystery and recognition. Simultaneously respect and acknowledgment. Simultaneously a plea and indignation: 'Don't you understand who I am?' And believe me, there was not a gram of lust nor a shadow of filth here. But no words can chosen — this must be felt. Feel on yourself. With your body, your breath, your heart.
And if a person looks at you like that, then he has already made his choice definitely. Irrevocably.
Ostin was serene — as if he were outside of land and time. His pulse became steady, his breathing slowed.
The girl knocked once again. Her smile changed to gloom, and the sound of knocking became more demanding. No wonder — this guy is staring without looking away, and the door is locked! What was there to stare at?
Ostin regained his senses and pressed the power window button several times. The car's electronics could not process the conflicting signals, and the protection system blocked further control — the button temporarily ceased to respond. Roughly speaking, in human terms, the car did not understand what this guy wanted from it and blocked access. A sort of protection against the carelessness of the one who dared to present his documents to it.
Ostin lowered his gaze, his shoulders tensed up. He froze, then bent sharply and began flipping through the settings menu of the 'romance breaker on wheels'. Each movement with the button and sensor seemed almost pointless, yet the guy was persistent in his actions. Even if pointless.
The girl looked at him with surprise and pointed at the door, as if demonstrating the obviousness of the situation. Ostin opened it carefully, without raising his gaze.
[Damn, everything was so simple. Why do people complicate everything so much?]
— And what was that? — the girl asked, puzzled.
— I thought you had decided not to let me in... You looked at me like I was a wretched one! — she opened her eyes wide, pointed at them with her hands, and laughed; her laughter trembled on the edge between surprise and amusement.
— Sorry... I... — Ostin scratched his neck, a gentle blush covered his cheeks. He wanted to say something, but just swallowed his words.
— Will you give me a ride? — she smiled, tilting her head slightly.
— Yes, of course, get in! — Ostin barely contained his joy; his heart seemed to jump.
— By the way, we've talked so much, but still haven't introduced ourselves, — she said, settling into the front seat and leaning her elbow on the dashboard. — I am Teresa.
— I am Ostin Braun. Or rather, just Brown. I mean... Ostin, — he stammered, suddenly overwhelmed by Teresa's closeness.
— Ha-ha, got it, got it, — the brunette laughed, lightly touching his shoulder. The poor guy froze completely: his breath halted, his body seemed as if caught in an electric current.
— Shall we go to me? — she looked him directly in the eyes; embarrassment completely overcame him. As if she deliberately wanted to crush him.
— What? — Ostin's heart pounded madly, and his pulse seemed ready to fly off. An electrocardiograph would have sensed a system breach, and the doctor would have kept crossing out the time.
[After all, it's true — people's fantasies do half the work for narcissists.]
— To work... — Teresa whispered, making herself comfortable. — And what were you thinking, little rascal?
— Oh... yes, that's what I was thinking about, — Ostin blushed even more and muttered: — I don't think you call men over to your place, — he said, suddenly switching to a stern tone, casting a testing look at her, as if expecting an affirmative answer.
— No, I don't call, — Teresa sighed, looking out the window. A hint of fatigue slipped into her voice. Then she shouted sharply, and Braun flinched: : — If I call them over, they'll kick me out!
— Kick you out? — Ostin turned his head, still stunned. The thought that someone could actually chase her away seemed absurd to him.
— Exactly! — Teresa looked at him with offense, and Ostin felt a strange sensation, as if the complaint was directed at him.
— I'm sorry. Can I help with something? — Ostin asked, holding back his emotions, but the question sounded more like an attempt to account for things.
— Oh no, you won't manage with my aunt, — Teresa laughed, slapping her forehead lightly.
— Your aunt? — Ostin asked, straightening up unconsciously.
— Yep, — she answered shortly, lowering her gaze. Her joy was swept by a wave of sadness — quiet, but noticeable.
— Oh... well... — the guy tried to find words. For the first time, he encountered such mood swings; even Mark was more consistent, though he was pure chaos.
— Let's just go, — Teresa said coldly, resting her elbow on the door frame and looking straight ahead.
— Yeah, right... something I... — Braun muttered, starting the engine. The car instantly moved off, as if it itself didn't want to remain in this atmosphere.
But the further they drove, the stronger the sense of estrangement became. Now they were silent — from the start to the very end of the road. Ostin tried in vain to find any points of connection, throwing short phrases into the void, but Teresa answered with monosyllables: ''Uh-huh', 'Yeah', 'Mmm'. It was as if she had been replaced. Instead of the daring panther, there sat a wounded predator, tending its own wound.
[Most often, we plunge the knife deeper into ourselves — only we ourselves.]
When they reached the spot, Teresa opened the door, nodded shortly, and stepped out without a word.
Ostin remained in the void. He slowly ran his hand over his face, exhaling the tension, and looked into the rearview mirror. Teresa walked on, not turning back.
Everything around blurred into silly smeared spots — people, trees, cars, and... a cat? And only she remained genuine, yet receding.
Had he lost everything even before it started?
[And what do we lose before the start? Faith, a chance, an opportunity, q dream? Or maybe just the simple possibility to live in a world that has long been limited? Perhaps that's the problem? Perhaps the problem lies in the inability to fully admit our own mistake? The label — it's ourselves!]
While Ostin was lost in his own thoughts, a señor approached the car from the back. He adjusted his glasses, squinted, and stared at the car in surprise. Then, dragging his feet and muttering something under his breath, he came closer quite aggressively.
He knocked sharply on the window:
— Mr. Braun, what are you doing here, and why is there a 'Taxi' sign on your car?"
Ostin flinched and instantly composed himself.
— Oh, good morning, Mr. Sinetua. I didn't expect to see you, — Ostin said in a friendly tone, but there was tension in his voice. Whether it was due to surprise or to dislike of different señors intruding into his space.
[Amazing how, in moments like this, the technology begins to work flawlessly.]
— I have told you many times to adress me by my first name. Mr. Honor! — the man insisted and snorted, glancing away.
— But you yourself address me by my last name, — Ostin quietly remarked. Even here, he was meticulously searching for a point of counterargument.
— Alright, forget it! — the señor waved his hand dismissively. — I'm asking you something else! — he narrowed his eyes. — Why is there a 'Taxi' sign on your car?
— Oh, you remember that I used to have a side job... — Ostin began, but was interrupted.
— Don't they pay you enough? — the señor raised his eyebrows. There was a barely restrained irritation in his voice. — I'm sorry, but you are a representative of our company, and it is not proper for a lawyer to work in a taxi! — he stomped his foot and swung his briefcase as if fighting the air.
Ostin raised his chin slightly.
— Mr... — Ostin swallowed and continued: — Mr. Honor, isn't it prohibited by my contract to work for myself?
Yes, this guy knew how to switch to using a person's name at the right moment when it was about defending his principles. A psychologically precise move, intended to soften the opponent.
— For yourself? Did you formalize it as a business? — the man asked skeptically, clearly impressed by Ostin's thorough preparation.
— Absolutely, — Ostin nodded. — It was exactly because of your company's policy that I chose it, — he added confidently. He knew he was right.
— Well, you know, we don't need any problems. And if someone finds out that a lawyer is working in a taxi, what speculation will spread! — Honor continued, still waving his briefcase and frantically searching for arguments. — You see, Mr. Braun, they'll think we are incapable of providing our own lawyers!
These words didn't sound legally precise and had nothing to do with the law. Rather, it was the complaint of a man who hadn't been given a chance to feel powerful.
— You know... you can chalk it up to a detective investigation, a cover-up, and the search for clues... — Ostin ruthlessly laid out his arguments. — That's how you usually handle other cases that come to light... — he added almost assertively.
— What cases are you referring to, Mr. Braun? — Honor tensed. — Perhaps you could tell me? We're headed the same way, — the irritation left his voice, leaving only an order.
— Have a seat, — Ostin offered, opening the door. — But I won't say a word.
He gestured for Honor to take the front seat, as if wanting him as close as possible. Then, smiling slightly, he put an end to the conversation without looking away:
— I am a lawyer, after all.