We get dressed and, after ordering a taxi, head to the amusement park. At this moment, my heart flutters with joyful anticipation—a day full of smiles, light, and perhaps small miracles awaits us. Everything inside me sings, as if something delicate and crystalline rings under my skin from the feeling that magic is about to begin, real, simple, but spine-tinglingly real.
Today, the weather does not disappoint us—the sky is clear, and the sun generously pours its warmth over the city. It feels like it embraces us with its light, making every step a little lighter, a little happier. For the end of April, it is a true gift from nature. I feel the rays caressing my face, as if nudging me forward, toward new memories, toward those little things that stay with you for a lifetime. The air is filled with a special April scent, and this aroma seems to promise something good, still unknown, but already important.
In a couple of months, Maxim will finish his studies. Every day brings us closer to the moment when everything he has worked on for so long will finally be complete. I see in him that inner strength—tired but steadfast—and it fills my heart with pride. Then—Mary's birthday and mine. This year, our little one will already be three. Three whole years! I can hardly believe how fast time flies. Her little hands are still tiny, and her voice rings like a bell. I want to hug her and stop this moment—right now, while she's still small, amazed, and discovering the world with wide-open eyes. Every question she asks is a story in itself, and every emotion is a whole universe.
I am happy that this year, my beloved is with us. With us on that special day, a day filled not only with gifts and candles but with warm glances and the feeling that we are a family. A real one. Honestly, every year, deep in my soul, I hope he will be by my side for both our celebrations. That we will laugh together, share cake, and that his eyes will shine with that very light—of happiness, love, and closeness. It is not even a dream—it is a small inner wish, like a child's desire hidden behind adult concerns.
Grandpa Vi tells me that on my birthday, Maxim spends it with him. Those are their quiet, almost ritualistic meetings—they drink beer or something stronger, talk, reminisce, laugh. He even buys a cake. And strangely enough, Maxim eats almost all of it, leaving only a portion for Vera. Vi himself does not like cakes—sweets are not to his taste. But still, with some quiet care of his own, he sends me photos of those cakes. And it makes me happy. Very happy. It means that he remembers me. Not formally, but truly, from the heart. It is his way of being near, despite distance, despite circumstances.
This time, everything will be different. This time, we will celebrate together. Truly, in person. And that very cake he used to buy—I will definitely eat it with him. Just as he wants. Slowly, savoring not only the taste but the atmosphere of the moment, filled with warmth and closeness. I imagine us sitting, perhaps even in silence—but in that silence, there is more than in a thousand words.
Now we share these happy moments. Not through a phone screen, not in dry messages and forwarded photos, but in reality. Here and now. Together. Close. The feeling of real presence—his breath nearby, his hand to hold—makes everything different. Deeper. Warmer. Real.
We are both happy. True, deep, quiet happiness—something that warms you from the inside. It does not shout, it does not demand attention. It simply is—like a little flame in your chest, like the certainty that you are in the right place, that everything is right.
Only now, sitting in the car, Mary does not fully understand where we are going. I try to explain, tell her where we are headed, but she, as if floating in the clouds, does not yet grasp what awaits her. It's okay. I am sure she will like it there. I know it with all my heart. Sometimes children sense a place before they even see it.
When we arrive, Maxim, as always, helps us out of the car carefully. His hands—warm, reliable—are near, and it makes me feel calm. It's amazing how much a simple touch can mean. I suddenly realize that after seeing my beloved behind the wheel once, I feel uneasy when anyone else drives. I don't like taking taxis. I just feel unprotected. It is as if a part of my confidence is lost on the way without him. But I understand that in our city, we can't get anywhere without a taxi, so I stay silent about my wishes, hiding them behind a smile.
Then we get closer and see real magic in front of us—beautifully decorated carousels, bright garlands, music floating through the air, calling us into a fairy tale. Everything sparkles, shines, shimmers, even during the day—and it seems as if the celebration has already begun. Mary's eyes light up, she freezes with her mouth open in awe, staring, unable to look away. Her little fingers grip my sleeve as if asking—could this be real? This moment is like a reflection of a memory. I remember how three years ago, stepping out of the taxi, I looked at this place the same way—with my heart racing, feeling that before me was a whole world full of wonders. Only now we come here together—with history, with love, with the expectation of happiness. And this moment seems almost magical.
"Darling, you already know everything here," Maxim says to me with that warm, slightly teasing intonation that always makes something tender ache inside me. His voice, so familiar and calm, sounds like a melody in which you dissolve, forgetting everything else in the world.
"So, where do we go?" he asks, hugging me from behind. His hands close gently around my waist, and I feel the warmth of his body pass through my clothes, warming not only my skin but my soul. That touch is like an anchor to the present—a gentle reminder that we are together, here and now.
Again, as if by magic, memories flood my mind. Once, I asked him where we would go when entering a club. Back then, everything was different: he already felt confident in such places, knew what he wanted, and could lead. I was only learning to trust him, only beginning to see behind the mask of an unsure guy someone who could be real for me. And now… now it repeats, but in another place, in another life. Only now, my man is not just a confident guest of the club—he has become its master. He has grown, strengthened, become real. And I—again by his side—and that says it all.
"Let's start with the cotton candy. Yes, Mary?" I ask our little one, turning to her with a soft smile.
But she seems petrified—not in fear, but in utter fascination. Her eyes are wide open, her lips slightly parted, and she stands completely still, as if she has stepped into a real-life fairy tale. Her gaze shines with amazement, delight, and a touch of childhood magic. It is one of those rare moments when a child truly feels wonder, and it becomes a part of their soul forever.
Maxim walks up to her lightly, as if not touching the ground. He carefully picks Mary up, lifting her with that kind of tenderness that makes my heart clench. His other hand finds mine, and with our fingers intertwined, he leads us toward the cotton candy stall. We walk like a family. We are a family.
The line is long—a noisy crowd with children squealing with impatience and parents exchanging looks of tiredness and laughter. But it doesn't bother us. On the contrary, it is all part of the atmosphere—lively, genuine, and filled with warmth. We aren't in a hurry. We come here to be together. To capture moments and store them away in our memory bank.
"Sweetie, what color do you want your cotton candy?" I ask, gently touching her cheek and noticing that our turn is approaching.
"What do they have?" Her voice is a little dreamy, as if she still hasn't come back down to earth.
"White, yellow, pink, blue. Which one do you want?" I clarify, smiling and looking into her eyes, which are full of sparks.
"That one," she points at the pink cotton candy a girl a little ahead of us is holding. Her little finger trembles with excitement.
"Okay, we'll get you one exactly like that," I agree, feeling a wave of warmth spread inside me—from the simplicity and purity of a child's desire.
"And which one do you want, Katrin?" Maxim suddenly asks me, and something playful glints in his eyes.
"None for me. I'm not really into sweets, you know that," I admit with a faint half-smile, trying to look away.
"But I seem to remember you dragging me around for ice cream and cotton candy," he reminds me with a mischievous chuckle, tilting his head slightly.
"When I'm nervous or emotional—it doesn't matter if it's positive or negative—I want to eat," I confess quietly, sharing a secret. "That's why I happily ate everything back then."
Those words are almost a whisper, but they are spoken with such honesty that something special hangs between us for a moment.
"So you're calm now?" my Rebel asks, and before I can answer, his lips softly touch my ear. It is sudden. Warm. And too intimate for such a crowded place.
I blush sharply. My cheeks burn as if someone has struck a match inside me. I feel hot, not because of the weather—but because of my feelings.
"Don't do that when we're in public," I say, deeply embarrassed, hiding my gaze.
"Alright," he laughs as if he knows he has won. "Then we'll get a yellow one for me, and a pink one for Mary."
His laugh is infectious, light like a summer breeze. And it is filled with joy. Happiness. And that very feeling for which it is worth waiting, believing, and walking together through everything.
After buying the cotton candy, I watch them sitting on a bench, eating it. At this moment, everything around seems to grow quiet—even the noisy park becomes a backdrop to this serene scene. Because I am clearly emotionally aroused, everything inside me freezes and tingles, as if light sparks are skittering across my skin. I languidly watch how slowly Maxim, while looking at me, eats his portion. His lips touch the fluffy cloud of sugar so lazily and sensually that it makes me feel hot. I occasionally lick my lips with desire, barely restraining myself, and swallow a lump in my throat—it seems to get stuck somewhere between excitement and anticipation. How I want… And I can no longer tell what I want more—to eat the cotton candy or my beloved. My whole body craves touch, sweetness, something real, warm, and familiar.
After finishing, he stands up and, positioning himself behind me, leans close to my ear. His breath washes over my skin like a light, almost weightless breeze—and goosebumps immediately run down my neck.
"Wait for me here, I'll be back soon," he whispers to me.
His voice is low, soft, like velvet, and every sound of it seems to seep inside me. He picks up our daughter, they leave, and I stay there waiting for them. My heart is beating fast; a mix of tenderness, anxiety, and quiet joy builds in my chest.