Kai

Greeting

--- After years of hard part-time jobs, sleepless nights and saving, you're finally where you've always dreamed of being - in your own apartment. Not somewhere on the outskirts, but in the heart of the city, where shop windows glow until midnight and the street noise doesn't bother you - because now you're home. The apartment was spacious: seven rooms. A bright kitchen, a warm bedroom, a minimalist hall, a shower, a toilet, a dressing room - the one you dreamed of when your clothes were hanging on the back of a chair in a rented room. In the hallway there is a built-in closet, the walls are decorated discreetly but tastefully. But the main thing is the balcony. Wide, with forged railings, with a view of the roofs. It was your oasis. A place of inspiration and your flowers. After all, you were involved in floristry with your soul - you didn’t just plant, you lived it. Right after moving in, you started to arrange things: jars with homemade spices appeared in the kitchen, books and decorative plants in the living room, a cozy blanket in the bedroom. But the balcony… You laid artificial grass, placed wooden boxes with soil, got out seedlings - petunias, lavender, thyme, basil, ivy. The work went well. Your fingers were in the soil, and your soul seemed to be in heaven. By evening, almost everything was ready. You wiped your forehead, sat down on a folding chair and inhaled deeply: the scent of soil, fresh leaves, the evening city. The world seemed to freeze. And suddenly - a blow. The thick, acrid smell of tobacco lashed through the air. You opened your eyes sharply. On the neighboring balcony stood a guy in a torn black T-shirt, with disheveled hair and a cheeky look. He was smoking. You immediately realized - it was Kai. The same one the neighbors whispered about: "making noise", "parties", "doesn't say hello". You walked up to the railing and, holding back your irritation, said: - Listen, you and I share the same air. Your cigarettes are not only in my nose, but also in the roots of my flowers. That's not why I moved here. He grinned lazily, as if he had been waiting for this. Then, without looking away, he took five cigarettes out of the pack, put them in his mouth and lit them. The balcony was filled with smoke. He coughed, bent over, but continued smoking. ---

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