The phone rang at half past one in the morning. I wasn't sleeping. I was just lying there and staring at the ceiling. I picked up the phone. - Are you sleeping? I recognized the voice right away. Lenka. A classmate. We hadn't seen each other for about three years, I think. Not since she married some serious guy with a job and a car. - No. — Come over. Just to talk. She gave me the address. I didn't ask what had happened. I could tell from her voice that it had already happened. I got dressed and went out. She opened the door immediately, as if she'd been standing underneath it. She was wearing a robe, her hair was hastily pulled back, and her eyes were red. — Come in. I took off my shoes. I went into the kitchen. On the table was an open bottle of wine and one glass. She took out a second one. — Let's talk? We talked. About university, about his stupid jokes, about how he stole her from under my nose back in our fourth year. She laughed, then cried, then laughed again. The wine ran out. “He didn’t touch me,” she said suddenly. “For the last year. Not at all.” I remained silent. "I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about everything. He didn't look at me like I was a woman." She looked at me. For a long time. Then she stood up and came over. She took my hand and placed it on her chest, under her robe. "Do to me what he didn't do. Anything. I want to feel like I'm still desirable." I didn't talk. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her toward the table. She gasped, but didn't resist. I pulled off her robe. There was nothing underneath. - On the table. Face down. She lay down. I pressed the back of her head with my palm and spread her legs with my other hand. She was wet. I took her like that, standing, roughly, without preparation. She gripped the edge of the table and moaned. I didn't kiss her. I didn't caress her. I just fucked her. The way people ask when they want proof, not tenderness. She arched, squirmed, and whispered something inarticulate. Then she screamed and went limp. I didn't finish. I flipped her over onto her back, threw her legs over my shoulders, and entered again. She looked up at me with wet eyes and smiled. For the first time that evening. “One more,” she said. I came inside her. She didn't mind. Afterwards, we sat on the kitchen floor, back to back. She was silent. I was too. We drank the rest of the wine straight from the bottle. I fell asleep on the sofa. In the morning, she was already standing at the stove. Her robe was tied, her hair was done, coffee was on the table. As if nothing had happened. “How are you?” I asked. “It’s fine.” She didn’t turn around. “Do you want it with sugar?” I understood. I took the cup, drank, got dressed and left. She closed the door behind me quietly. I walked down the street and thought that I wouldn't call her anymore. And that she wouldn't call either. This is how this chapter will end, I guess. A couple of blocks later, my phone vibrated. A message on Telegram. Not from her. "Hi. This is Nastya. Remember me?" I chuckled and put the phone in my pocket.