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The evening fatigue settles on my shoulders like an unbearable weight. The people in the overcrowded minibus sway quietly, bouncing uncomfortably over the road’s potholes, sitting in gloomy silence as they count down the stops until it’s their turn to get off.

The evening rush hour traffic jams always wear you down no less than the job you’re coming home from. It’s the daily routine of countless working pedestrians who don’t have their own car.

Some lady in the bus had apparently poured an entire bottle of some horribly cloying, suffocating perfume on herself, with a smell that reminded me of rotten bedbugs. Two seats away, some man started coughing loudly without even thinking of covering his reeking, alcohol-laden mouth. And to top it all off, when it was finally my turn to squeeze my way to the exit, some clumsy cow stepped hard on my foot, scraping the faux leather on my brand-new boot!

Things just keep getting better and better. Outside, a nasty, fine November drizzle was falling—the kind that would once again turn my courtyard into an impassable swamp of mud.

In weather like this, Anton definitely won’t show up… and thank God for that! Lately, his presence has been suffocating me.

At first, I liked his erudition and education—after all, these days it’s not easy to find a man who’s intelligent, cultured, and well-mannered. But after a few years, that very correctness in his behavior, along with his constant nitpicking about my words and “improperly constructed” phrases, started to seriously get on my nerves and press down on me. Honestly, it makes me want to fling open the window just to breathe.

And the sex with him… well… at least it existed. A sort of strict stability on Fridays, sometimes even on Saturdays. And if Mercury happened to be in retrograde—then Sundays too!

Why I agreed to this, and more importantly—why I’m still in this kind of relationship—I honestly can’t answer with certainty, even to myself. Probably just a matter of habit by now. Though, truth be told, we’ve only been officially together for almost two years.

Before we became a couple, we studied finance together and were good friends. In those carefree student years, he was quite an interesting and fun guy. My red-haired, handsome classmate with piercing brown eyes was my best friend at university—and I’d be lying if I said the girls didn’t notice him. But he was more interested in his studies than in them. There’s just something about him that’s incredibly attractive… right up until he opens that overly clever, endlessly boring mouth of his.

After graduation, we both got assigned to the same company, and for several years we worked side by side. Our friendship seemed to grow stronger, and eventually Anton took a bold step—he asked me out.

With my tight work schedule and constant busyness, I had catastrophically little free time. Men don’t usually like that—they want attention—and that’s why none of them stuck around in my life for long.

Damn, I don’t even have a girlfriend I could spend evenings chatting with on the phone, sharing the latest gossip. The closest person I had was Anton. And the fact that we had matching work schedules at the same company was a huge bonus when I agreed to try being his official girlfriend.

At first, everything was… tolerable. Not a bad lover (I’ve seen much worse), a good friend, a colleague, and now a boyfriend—all rolled into one. Life flowed steadily and predictably… almost to the point of horror.

One day, I decided to shake up our routine. Catching a moment when Anton was in the archives, I burst in after him and locked the door behind me.

The wide-eyed look on my boyfriend’s face was priceless when I started unbuttoning my shirt and slipped my hand into his pants, trying to revive something that clearly wasn’t in the mood to revive on its own.

Pulling away from me, Anton straightened his clothes, glanced around nervously, and started quietly scolding me—asking what on earth I thought I was doing. At the workplace, full of colleagues, he simply couldn’t. It was unethical, unprofessional, and so on and so forth.

In short, my initiative ended up screwing me over instead of my boyfriend, which left me feeling downright gloomy. Spontaneity is something I can only dream about.

I know for certain that Anton isn’t cheating on me—I’ve studied him far too well and for far too long. He’s just… like that in life. Too proper. Sometimes I want to grab him by the shoulders, give him a good shake, and yell, “Wake up already! Stop being such a bore! Do something wild for once!” But, unfortunately, even that wouldn’t work.

About six months ago, I transferred to another company and… it felt like I could finally breathe again. Anton wasn’t around, and I felt lighter without him. There was no constant nagging or boredom. I even managed to miss him a little, which—strangely enough—slightly stirred up whatever passion we had left.

Why are we even doing this? There are no fiery feelings between us—and honestly, there never were. Affection, attraction, trust—those are the main pillars of our relationship. Maybe I’m just afraid of ending up alone, or maybe it’s simply become way too convenient. I haven’t really understood myself in a long time.

Once I finally made it home, I peeled off my soaked clothes and shoes with relief. I had no energy and no mood for anything, but I had to eat, so I dragged myself straight to the kitchen. While reheating some pilaf, I saw Anton’s name flash on the screen.

“Iza, kitten, I wanted to come over tonight, but it probably won’t work out,” my boyfriend says with frustration. “The rain’s pouring like crazy, and I’ve got a pile of work I brought home. If I can manage, I’ll drop by. But it’s probably better if you don’t wait up—just get some rest. We’ll see each other tomorrow and spend the day together.”

“Alright,” I sigh, taking the plate out of the microwave. “I’m already about to collapse myself,” I admit. “Don’t overwork yourself. Kisses.”

Honestly, it’s a good thing we don’t live together. We each have our own space, even though we exchanged apartment keys long ago and can easily wander between our homes.