Everything is going wrong. Or rather, it's going fine, but not at all the way I dreamed. I can't shake the feeling that life has played a trick on me. On the surface, everything is okay and there's no reason to be sad, but still...
It's Saturday morning. Rays of sunlight are forcing their way through the gaps in the curtains, insistent, as if trying to say, "Wake up! Get up! It's a joyful, warm, beautiful new day!"
But I don't believe them. And I don't want to get up. I'll just turn toward the wall, hug my pillow, and brood over my failed life. Though to someone else, it might look like a very successful one. There is a fiancé who loves me madly. There is a steady job that actually pays quite well. It seems like everything a person needs to be happy, right?
"I don't know, I just don't know what I need..." I answer myself with a surge of annoyance. "But the happiness isn't there."
There are no valid reasons to be blue. So why does it feel so heavy that I want to cry and wallow in self-pity?
Around 11:00 AM, my cell phone rang. The name "Paul" flashed on the screen. My Paul. I had absolutely no desire to talk, but the phone stubbornly kept ringing again and again.
"If I don't pick up, he'll rush over here to find out what's wrong," I thought.
"Hey, Paul," I said into the receiver.
"Finally! Why weren't you answering? I was starting to get worried. I thought something happened. I was about to come over and rescue you."
"Relax. Nothing happened."
"Yeah? Well, alright. Are we seeing each other tonight?"
"Probably not. It's likely not going to work out."
"Why? Are you coming down with something?"
I was so tempted to lie and say I was sick. I could blame it on the flu or at least a cold, maybe cite a high fever. But ever since my school days, I'd learned a clear lesson: you don't lie about your health, or you'll actually get sick.
I remember once deciding to skip a math final. I asked my grandma to write a note saying I was absent from school on such-and-such date because I wasn't feeling well.
"You don't play games with your health," Grandma said. "Now get to school!"
I left the house, but I didn't go to the final. I wrote the note myself, forging her handwriting. By evening, my temperature had spiked. I ended up stuck in bed for a month with pneumonia.
"No, I'm not sick. I'm just planning to go visit my grandma tonight."
Why did I blurt that out? I have no idea.
And the most incredible thing happened a bit later, closer to lunch. Unexpectedly, Grandma called and said, "Elena, I've just baked some sweet rolls with jam. Come over, I'll give you a treat."
Marveling at the coincidence, I got ready and headed over to her place.
***
"Mmm, these are to die for," I said an hour later, smacking my lips with pleasure as I devoured a still-warm roll.
Grandma took a sip of herbal tea and watched me closely.
"What's bothering you, Elena?"
"Bothering me? Me? What makes you think that?"
"Honey, don't put on a front. I can see it. You're not yourself. You look lost, upset. Tell me."
"Grandma, I can't hide anything from you."
"And why would you want to? Go on, speak up."
"Paul proposed to me..."
"Really? And what did you tell him?"
"Nothing yet. I'll probably say yes."
"Are you sure?" Grandma asked.
"Well... yes. He's a good man. Kind, caring. He's always there for me in a tough spot. I've seen that firsthand. He's reliable."
I expected her to say, "I'm so happy for you, sweetie." But Grandma remained silent.
"And, I'm already thirty. It's time to stop playing the field; I should have walked down the aisle ages ago," I added jokingly, still waiting for some kind of congratulations. Grandma continued to examine her teacup as if it were a work of art rather than ordinary dishes.
"Gran," I called out to her. "Why are you quiet? What do you think, should I marry Paul?"
I asked that last question just for the sake of it, not expecting an answer. It was likely my subconscious speaking for me. Then Grandma suddenly said in a level voice, "No. Don't marry him."
"What?" I trailed off, stunned.
"Don't marry him," she repeated.
"Why...?"
"Because you asked that question."
"I don't follow..."
"You know, Elena, if you had shouted 'Yes!' the second he proposed without a moment's doubt, I would be very happy for you. But if there's even a drop of doubt, it's not love. And without love, a marriage is doomed from the start."
"Gran..." I jumped up, walked over, and hugged the old woman from behind, burying my nose in her shoulder—it felt cozy and smelled like home. "What should I do?"
"Talk to him."
"What am I supposed to say? That I don't love him?"
"There's no need to be so blunt. You shouldn't hurt him. Just explain that you think the world of him, that you feel warm and safe by his side, but it's just not love. If he's not a fool, he'll understand."
"I hope so..."
We chatted for a long time about everything under the sun, about Paul and about life in general. And as I was getting ready to leave, Grandma said, "But Paul isn't the whole problem, is he?"
"Not all of it," I nodded in agreement.
"What else? Trouble at work?"
"Not trouble, exactly," I grimaced. "They pay on time, the workload isn't bad. But it's boring, uninteresting. And the boss is a total tyrant."
"Then what's keeping you there? Everything is in your hands, don't forget that."
"It's not exactly easy to find a job right now."
"Who said anything about finding one?"
"I don't follow..." I repeated for the second time that evening, my brows furrowing in confusion.
"Remember how you used to say, 'Once I graduate, I'm going to open my own little coffee shop...'?"
"...and we'll bring in customers with your famous rolls," I finished the sentence for her, chuckling.
"Exactly. And I didn't say no back then," she noted with a sly squint.
"I remember, Gran, but it's all so complicated. There are permits, red tape..."
"And who said it would be easy?" Grandma winked conspiratorially. "But interesting and exciting? Without a doubt."
"Alright, I'll think about your proposal," I laughed.
"What's there to think about? This is a time for action, not reflection," the old woman declared in a confident tone.
"Look at you, being all business, Gran!"
"You bet!" she smiled playfully. "We haven't even discussed my salary yet. And my title is quite important too. I don't want to be just a baker; I might agree to something like Head of Pastry Operations, though."
"Head of Operations? Talk about shooting for the stars. Let me at least look into what paperwork I need first. For all I know, this might be an impossible dream."
"It's possible. I believe in you."
***
The first thing I did after leaving Grandma's was call Paul. I asked to meet up, telling him we needed to talk.
"Paul, I care about you so much. You're my best friend..." I began when we met.
I won't say he was happy when he realized where the conversation was going. Но at the very least, he tried to understand. We broke up, but we stayed friends.
The next day, without wasting any time, I went on a scouting mission to the local government offices to find out what it takes to become a small business owner and start my own company. There was no other choice: Grandma believes in me, and I can't let her down!
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