Closing the front door behind her, she sat on the floor and closed her eyes. In her imagination, the image of those dark, alluring eyes appeared, and her heart beat faster under the imaginary gaze. Sliding her fingertips over the spot where a cold droplet had rolled, she stopped at her collarbone.

"Who are you, Mr. X?" she whispered almost inaudibly.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes. "No, this is not what I should be thinking about! Better to focus on everyday chores than torment myself with questions I will never find the answers to. Besides, people who visit such places are not likely to be encountered casually on the street, so the probability of seeing him again tends toward zero." With these thoughts, she got up and headed to the shower.

Returning, she lay down on the bed. All the fatigue accumulated throughout the day seemed to crash over her like a wave. Barely touching the pillow with her head, she could feel every muscle in her body relaxing. She closed her eyes and immersed herself in the world of dreams.

***

A gentle summer breeze touched her face, gently playing with her hair. Maria opened her eyes, and their gaze turned to the night sky, adorned with stars that illuminated the earth like an invisible sunbeam, penetrating the room through an open window. It was quiet, and only the crackling of burning candles disturbed the silence.

Someone's warm hands enveloped the tips of the girl's fingers so tenderly and carefully, as if afraid that even the slightest touch could disturb her delicacy and fragility. She looked down. Kneeling before her was a man. His facial features were immersed in the darkness of the night, as if the shadows themselves were hiding his mystery from her gaze, giving his silhouette an air of mystique. He brought her hands to his face, and, touching his forehead, took a deep breath, as if inhaling the aroma of her presence. The warmth of his touch smoothly rolled over her skin, like invisible flames.

At that moment, she heard the voice of an elderly man: "I've almost finished my work. Just a couple of strokes left." Maria turned her head and, against the backdrop of dark wooden panels adorned with dark burgundy curtains, saw an easel standing opposite them. Behind it was the artist.

Suddenly, she felt unbearable pain in her chest. Touching him with her hand, she felt thick, warm blood flowing through her fingers. Horror engulfed her, like a wave of cold stream. She looked around and in an instant realized that the man and the artist had disappeared, as everything around her had disappeared. She sat in complete darkness, and her only companions were silence and solitude. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

***

Maria opened her eyes. Tears uncontrollably streamed down her cheeks, creating an indistinct trace on the pillow. She sat up and pressed her face to her knees.

"Why? Why do I live through this dream again and again?" she said.

Her voice sounded broken. Her gaze turned to the painting, as if it could hide the answers. But her contemplation was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Anna returned from work. She looked at her friend's swollen face.

"What happened to you?" she asked, concerned.

"Everything's fine," Maria replied, trying to smile to hide the traces of sadness.

"I see," Anna said.

Not wanting to bother her friend with questions, Anna tried to change the topic of conversation.

"Next Saturday, there will be a classical music concert at the grand theater. It will be Robert's first concert of such scale. And, of course, I must support him. Will you come with me?" With these words, she took out two tickets from her purse.