A Calm Evening (for once)

Dinner with Aelena yesterday turned out… better than I expected.

We ended up at Hlopskа Restauracia Burachok. If you’ve never been, it’s one of those places where everything just works. Warm, welcoming, full of life without being loud. The kind of restaurant where you sit down and immediately feel like you’ve made the right decision, even before the food arrives. And then it does… and it’s even better than you expected.

I let her choose. She has a way of scanning a menu like she’s reading a system log rather than dishes.

We started with salо with garlic and black bread, the proper kind, thick-cut, almost translucent at the edges, with that delicate saltiness that sits somewhere between rustic and ceremonial. She watched me carefully as I took the first bite, like she was measuring whether humans deserve their own planet.

Then came something I rarely see done right: deruny with mushroom sauce, but not the usual heavy version. These were crisp at the edges, almost lace-like, with a deep forest aroma from the mushrooms. The sauce had that earthy tone that feels older than language itself.

She ordered buckwheat with veal and onions, which sounds simple until you taste it done properly. Nutty, soft, with the meat slow-cooked enough to fall apart if you just look at it with intent. I went for borscht with smoked pear, which I did not expect to work… but it did. Sweetness at the edge, smoke in the background, like someone whispered autumn into the bowl.

We shared vareniki with cherries for dessert. That part was less about the food and more about the moment. The kind where conversation slows down, not because there’s nothing to say, but because saying less feels right.

We talked. About her world. About mine. About the strange overlap where both pretend to understand each other.

At some point I did what I always do.

At some point I leaned a little closer, letting the conversation slow just enough. Not pushing, not rushing… just that quiet shift where words start carrying a bit more weight. A small smile, a longer look, the kind of moment where you don’t say anything directly, but the meaning is clear if the other person wants to hear it.

She smiled. Not surprised. Not uncomfortable.

“I wish,” she said. “Truly. But it’s not possible.”

Clean. Gentle. Final.

I waved it off with a grin. I’ve had worse.

I told her about the time I got rejected by a sentient fog bank on an alternate Earth. Not metaphorically. Actual fog. Beautiful, luminous, emotionally complex… and completely uninterested.

She laughed at that. Properly laughed. That was worth it.

We left, walked back toward the Ibis. Quiet street, that soft Lviv evening air that makes everything feel slightly unreal even when it’s not.

Then, just before the entrance, she pulled me in and kissed me.

Not polite. Not brief.

For a moment, it felt… very human.

And then—

We weren’t in Lviv anymore.

Green meadow. Still water. A pond so calm it looked like time had stopped to rest. The air had that impossible clarity, like every particle knew exactly where it belonged.

I noticed immediately. Of course I did.

“Aelena…”

She looked at me, calm as ever.

Then just like that, we were back in front of the hotel.

Same street. Same light. Same world.

“That,” she said softly, “is one of the reasons.”

I nodded.

Because I understood.

For her, reality is… flexible. For me, it breaks.

And when I break, I don’t stay.

“I could die,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And end up… ancient Japan, or worse.”

She tilted her head slightly. “And that’s the risk.”

Fair.

We stood there a moment longer. No drama. No regret.

Just acceptance.

We said goodnight.

Today was quieter.

Mostly.

There was a liquid doors problem, which is exactly what it sounds like and also not at all.

Three instances across Lviv. One in a 17th-century building near the old Armenian quarter, another in a half-renovated apartment block, and one particularly annoying case inside what used to be a storage room for wine barrels.

Doors… behaving like water. Not opening. Not closing. Just… flowing.

The oldest one was the worst. You could see layers of time slipping through it. People walking past in clothes from centuries apart, none of them aware of each other.

I stabilized it by anchoring the frame to a fixed moment. Took longer than I wanted. The others were easier. Newer distortions, less stubborn.

By late afternoon, everything was back where it should be. Or at least where it agrees to pretend it belongs.

Now it’s evening.

I’m at Teddy.

My usual: a ridiculous, Bordain-inspired mortadella burger, thick slices, slightly charred edges, soft bun that barely contains it, and just enough mustard to remind you life has sharp corners.

And a pepperoni pizza overloaded to the point of structural concern. Grease pooling in small shimmering constellations. Perfect.

Aelena left for Kyiv this morning. She said she’ll be back at some point.

I didn’t ask when.

Some things work better without schedules.

I’m hoping for a calm week now. Easter in Lviv. No paradoxes. No doors. No unexpected deaths sending me into inconvenient centuries.

Though knowing my luck…

For now, it’s quiet.

And I’ll take that.

— Marco