Freakland, or the Limits of “Normal”

Psychologist series

Ukrainian story
Russian story

Officially, Natalie was single. She’d split from her husband a long time ago and wasn’t in any rush to get married again… not that there were any promising candidates on the horizon.

Her loneliness, though, was more theoretical than real—there were plenty of men in her life. They came and went with predictable regularity, keeping her company in the most unremarkable of ways. Rarely did things go beyond the bedroom or a quiet dinner for two. Occasionally, she’d introduce one of her suitors to her close circle of friends… but never to her son or her mother.

Why bother? Just to hear fifty snarky remarks from her mom, who would criticize everything about the guy—from his looks to how he stirred sugar into his tea? Or to explain herself to her son, Platon, who would disapprove of the very idea of a new man in his mother’s life?

There was another complication that made introductions difficult: distance. Natalie was in Poland, while her son and mother were still in Ukraine. Platon, being of the conscription age, couldn’t leave a country at war. And her mother? She simply refused to go. With the stubbornness of a mule, she kept telling her daughter she couldn’t imagine living anywhere but Ukraine—and didn’t care one bit about missile strikes or the other "charming details" of wartime life.

Sure, she could introduce someone over Zoom—or whatever else the tech world had come up with to make online communication easier. But what was the point of arranging awkward video calls when the latest guy would probably lose his “boyfriend” status in a month or two? If a relationship ever got serious—truly serious—something beyond bedroom dates, then maybe she’d think about introducing him to the people who mattered. But not before. Definitely not before.

“It’s weird you haven’t found someone permanent,” a friend once said while passing through Warsaw. (Gone were the good old pre-war days when they all lived in the same country—even the same city. Now they were scattered across the globe, and every in-person visit felt like a rare treasure.)

“It’s not exactly easy,” Natalie replied evasively, avoiding the details. She didn’t feel like justifying herself or explaining that, truthfully, she didn’t want anything permanent. Permanence meant predictability… and boredom.

“You’re beautiful, smart, successful in your career,” her friend pressed on, refusing to drop the topic and shaking her head in frustration. “So what’s the deal? Is it because you’re in Poland? Maybe a language barrier?”

“Not really…” Natalie replied lazily with a shrug. “My Polish is pretty decent. I’ve gotten the hang of it over the past year.”

Not that words were really necessary in the bedroom. That’s where a different language was spoken—the language of love… physical, wordless. Hands, lips… the tongue played an active role, too… just in a different way.

“So it’s a cultural thing?” her friend guessed.

Natalie tilted her head, thinking. Did she notice a cultural difference when talking to Polish men? Not really… especially since some of her very close (if temporary) companions weren’t Polish at all. There’d been a few Ukrainians too—those rare lucky ones who’d managed to leave the country before it became impossible for men to get out.

“I don’t know,” she finally said out loud. “Sure, there’s a bit of a cultural difference… but that’s not really the point. It’s just… I love my freedom. I like my life the way it is right now. You get that, right?”

No, her friend didn’t get it. She was looking at Natalie like she was some kind of oddball—at best.

“You think that’s weird?” Natalie asked bluntly, flashing a crooked smile.

“Well… it’s unusual,” her friend hedged. “That’s how men think…”

Yep. She definitely thought Natalie was “weird.” Then again, who decides what’s normal? Where exactly are the limits of so-called “normal”?

“Fair enough,” Natalie said amicably after considering her friend’s words. “I guess I am a little weird sometimes.”

But really, who isn’t? We all have our quirks—some small, some not so small.

Take the young man currently lounging in the chair across from her in her office, for example. Yevhen Sydorenko, a new potential client. Now that was a strange one—in just every way imaginable.

Starting with his name.

“Yevhen?” Natalie repeated, a little surprised. Not Zhenya, not even Yevheniy. Just… Yevhen.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I don’t like being called Zhenya. And Yevheniy sounds too formal. I’m Yevhen.” There was a hint of pride in his voice.

“Got it,” she said with a smirk.

And his name was far from the only unusual thing about him. His appearance was striking, too,  to say the least.

He was tall and lean—borderline skinny—with the kind of wiry build that suggested he was just barely past thirty. His straw-blond curls were trimmed short around the ears but left longer on top, forming a kind of tousled hair horn. His sharply defined face was framed by a pair of wild brown eyes and a thick wheat-colored mustache that, while not particularly flattering, definitely made him stand out.

But the outfit—that was the real showstopper.

A light embroidered vyshyvanka shirt paired with something that looked like lavender harem pants. And on his feet? Bright red Crocs. If that wasn’t enough, it looked like his fingernails were painted with a pearly polish.

Well, damn… Natalie thought, staring at the eccentric visitor and silently praying her surprise wasn’t showing on her face. It would be wildly unprofessional to let a client’s appearance throw her off. A psychologist should see the world without blinders.

Still, this guy was a character. The kind of person you’d spot in any crowd—and probably do a double-take.

“Just so you know, I’m not gay,” he said with a crooked smile, watching her reaction with a touch of irony.

“I never said you were,” Natalie replied calmly. “And I didn’t think it either.”

She wasn’t just being polite—Yevhen did genuinely strike her as straight, at least in the sexual sense. Sure, he was flashy, but style and sexuality weren’t exactly a package deal… and even if they were, it’s never that black-and-white. A guy with an eccentric look could still be into women. Why not? Maybe he just liked standing out. Or maybe he enjoyed various kinds of experimentation.

Later, she’d find out both were true—though the second theory was a bit closer to the mark. But that would come in time. For now, she could only guess.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m not gay,” Yevhen said again with a grin. “I’m just… let’s say, a freak.”

That bit of self-description made her chuckle. Shaking her head, she said,
“Isn’t that a little harsh?”

“Harsh?” he raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. What’s so bad about being a freak?”

“Well, that depends on what you mean by it,” Natalie replied evenly.

“Being a freak means being weird in other people’s eyes. Not like everyone else. Not what’s considered ‘normal.’”

“I don’t see anything wrong with not being ‘normal.’ With not fitting the mold… as long as it’s all within the law.”

“Don’t worry,” her eccentric guest said with a quick laugh. “I haven’t crossed into illegal weirdness just yet.”

She had to admit—she kind of liked Yevhen. Sure, it was too early to draw any real conclusions, but still… the way things were starting felt promising.

“That’s actually why I came,” Yevhen went on.

Natalie’s eyebrows lifted.

“You’re afraid you might eventually cross into illegal weirdness?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

“Not exactly…” Yevhen tilted his head, clearly trying to find the right words. “I just want to understand myself better. I… scare people.”

“Scare them?” Natalie didn’t quite believe him.

“Yeah. I do,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe not everyone, but… I make a lot of people feel uneasy. Mixed signals, I guess.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It kind of gets in the way,” he admitted after a pause. “I want to figure myself out. Either come to terms with who I am… or try to change.”

“Interesting…” Natalie murmured, thoughtful. “And you’re actually willing to change, right?”

He held back a sigh, his expression dimming.

“Well… I’d rather not. I like my life the way it is. My routines, my quirks… but—damn. Maybe something does need to shift. Or maybe I just need to learn how to play the part of a ‘normal’ person.”

“A non-freak,” she said with a small laugh, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She definitely liked him… why should he change? Let him stay exactly as he is—just weed out the overly skittish ones. The ones who don’t get him. The ones who never will.

Still, saying that out loud wouldn’t be very professional. Psychologists—real ones, and she did consider herself one, even if unofficially—don’t give advice like that. It’s more subtle than that. Gentler. And besides, they’d only just begun talking. She needed time to get a better read on him.

“Besides,” Yevhen went on, his tone lightening again, “it’s trendy to see a therapist these days!”

His smile was bright—warm, disarming, the kind that made you want to smile back without thinking.

Which is exactly what Natalie did, and quite willingly.

“So you’re into following trends?”

“Not all of them,” he shrugged. “But this one? I figured I’d give it a shot. See where it takes me.”

“Smart move,” Natalie acknowledged. Then, after a brief pause, added thoughtfully, “You know… I have the strangest feeling I’ve seen you somewhere before. I just can’t place where.”

Yevhen gave her a crooked grin.

“Well… you might have. Especially if you watch MasterChef.”

“That’s it!” Natalie exclaimed with relief, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m not a big fan of shows like that, but sometimes something catches my eye… it’s a cooking competition, right? For talented amateurs. And I think you won one of the seasons… am I remembering that correctly?”

“You are,” Yevhen confirmed with a grin. “I did win—five years ago. Got a cash prize, which helped me open my first little restaurant in Kyiv. It wasn’t enough to cover everything, but it gave me a solid start. And I also got the chance to study at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Things changed after that… for the better.”

Natalie smiled.

“Now I remember! Yes, yes—I’ve heard of you. You’re really active in promoting Ukrainian cuisine, reviving our food traditions.”

“Exactly,” he said cheerfully, clearly pleased she knew that much. “That’s actually why I’m in Poland right now. Just for a few weeks—I’m heading back to Ukraine soon. We’re hosting a Ukrainian charity dinner here, all proceeds go to support the Armed Forces.”

“Ah, I see,” she said thoughtfully. “I assumed you’d relocated here… because of the war.”

“Not at all. I’m Ukrainian, and I’m staying in my country—no matter what. But now and then, I manage to get away for a couple of days, like this time. So our future sessions will probably be online. That’s possible, right?”

“Of course,” Natalie replied, a bit surprised by the question. “If I ruled out online sessions, I’d be left without clients.”

“Well, then great,” he said, visibly reassured. “I guess I should tell you a bit more about myself? So you can understand what brought me here, and what’s been bothering me.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Natalie agreed. “Tell me in whatever way feels most comfortable for you.”

 

Yevhen: The Beginning of the Story

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved cooking—though I never imagined I’d actually make a career out of it. That idea had honestly never even crossed my mind… but life had other plans.

Anyway, let me start from the beginning.

I was lucky—I come from a well-off family. I wouldn’t say we were wealthy (definitely not), but my childhood was comfortable. And genuinely happy. No real worries, total freedom, and room to roam. My parents never pressured me or my sister. They didn’t demand perfect grades and didn’t get worked up when teachers complained about my less-than-model behavior. I was never a goody-two-shoes—I hated strict rules and loved cracking jokes.

I somehow managed to scrape through high school. My grades definitely weren’t anything to brag about—but I never aimed to be an honor student. What for? I didn’t see any real benefit in it, and as it turns out, I wasn’t wrong. Moreover, even with my unimpressive transcript, I got into university without much trouble.

I chose to major in economics—not because I had any particular passion for it, but because it was trendy at the time. Yep, those trends again… and in that case, following them wasn’t exactly my brightest move.

Still, I don’t regret getting an economics degree. Those five years in college did me good. They gave me space to spread my wings, grow up a bit, and figure out who I was and what I wanted out of life. And hey, having at least a basic understanding of economics isn’t a bad skill—it ended up being useful later on.

That said, there were definitely downsides. For one, I was bored out of my mind most of those years. Economics never really captured my interest or kept me mentally engaged. So, I found other ways to entertain myself and channel all that pent-up energy.

At one point, I tried starting a mini-theater and sold tickets to makeshift performances (yeah, I charged for them—of course!). Then I got into buying gum and candy in bulk and reselling it for a profit… I’ve never had a shortage of ideas—or confidence, for that matter. I’ve always been a pretty creative guy. Still am. That’s probably one of my defining traits… which explains my fondness for bold, experimental looks—and not just when it comes to appearance.

Anyway, back to my younger years… I was just finishing university and trying to figure out what came next when my aunt invited me to come stay with her in Italy. Yep, my mom’s sister married an Italian guy and settled in Milan, so I’ve always had an open invitation to visit—and I gladly took her up on it.

Now, you might be thinking: big deal, a trip to Italy. So what? A few months abroad, no harm done, but nothing life-changing, right?

Actually, for me—it was life-changing. That trip ended up shaping a lot of what came after. It opened my eyes and, in a way, gave birth to the version of Yevhen Sydorenko sitting in front of you right now.

See, I didn’t just hang around Milan, where my aunt and her husband lived. I traveled all over Italy, hopping from city to city, visiting countless restaurants… and meeting a whole bunch of talented chefs along the way. And those chefs? They completely shifted my perspective on food. They showed me what traditional Italian cuisine really was, and helped me see local dishes in a whole new light. But more than that—they inspired me. Their passion lit a spark.

That’s when it hit me: cooking isn’t just about feeding yourself—it’s an art form. It’s a way of expressing who you are through the magic that happens in the kitchen. It’s about experimenting. And I’ve always loved to experiment.

That’s how it all began. I kept honing my skills in the kitchen, diving into the cuisines of different cultures, and quietly starting to map out how I could turn this new hobby into something bigger. That’s how I’m wired—I love building strategies, creating, dreaming big. And cooking was no exception. I’m not the type to just exist—I need to do, and do it boldly. I guess you could call me a “high-achiever.”

Eventually, I ended up as a contestant on MasterChef. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d win—the competition was fierce—but I was definitely hoping for some exposure, a chance to show off my culinary chops. But MasterChef turned out to be so much more than just a PR boost; it launched me into a whole new life. The life I’m living now.

Do you know why I won? Why did I stand out among so many talented (and sometimes ruthless) competitors? I’m convinced it’s because I’m a weirdo. Yep, you heard me right—don’t be surprised. I wasn’t afraid to take risks. I wasn’t just cooking—I was creating. Risk, bold creativity, a dash of madness, stubborn persistence, and a little bit of luck—that’s the recipe that got me to the top.

I’ve always been that kind of person… creative, yeah, but also someone who sees the world through a different lens. I don’t think in straight lines. I don’t do boxes. Boxes are for things, not for people. I’ve never tolerated imposed rules or limitations—and I still don’t. If anything, that side of me has only grown stronger with time. It shows up in everything I do: my approach to cooking, my personal style, even how I love.

People say I’m odd. Some even call me nuts. And honestly? I’m starting to lean into that. Strange. Eccentric. Offbeat. I just hope it’s my edge—the thing that sets me apart, that helps me find unique solutions and unexpected paths forward. You know what I mean?

Take my restaurant, for example. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Stepping Into the Future. I took the foundation of traditional Ukrainian recipes—time-tested, beloved—and added my own twist. I reimagined them. Gave them a creative spin. It’s like a bridge between the past and the future. And it worked!

My cuisine isn’t for everyone—some guests get thrown off by the unusual ingredients (like bees, for instance), or bold pairings (like sauerkraut with honey or onion jam). But if you dare to try it—I swear, you’ll fall in love. And you’ll keep coming back. There’s just no other way.

Another example of my “creativity”? My name. I go by Yevhen, not Yevhenii, not Zhenya. Just Yevhen. And for some reason, that freaks people out. Why? What’s the big deal? It’s my name, I like how it sounds, and that should be enough. Period.

And while we’re on the topic—my appearance. A lot of people assume I’m gay. But I’m not. I sleep with women. I just happen to love playing with style and fashion. How did clothes become a marker of sexuality, anyway? It’s ridiculous. But… yeah, I’ve learned there’s no shortage of ridiculous people in the world. Sad but true.

Speaking of sexuality—my preferences there are also, let’s say… unconventional. Nothing taboo, don’t get me wrong. But not every woman is open to trying out my… hmm… ideas. I enjoy bold, playful experiments in bed, but finding someone equally adventurous? That’s the real challenge.

Which brings me here. Not that I’m expecting you to play matchmaker—God, no. It’s just… I’m tired. Tired of searching. And maybe the problem is me. Everyone seems to think so, and honestly? I’m starting to believe it, too. I’m hoping you can help me figure out if that’s true… and what to do about it. I’m even open to change… if I’m capable of it.

 

* * *

"If you're capable of it?" Natalie echoed his last words after Yevhen fell silent, having finished his story. "Are you doubting your ability… or your desire?"

He gave a small shrug and smiled, though there was a trace of sadness behind it.

"Honestly? Both," he admitted after a short pause. "On the one hand, I like being who I am. I like the way I live. I like being creative. But on the other hand… could I even become someone else if I tried? Could I shut off this need to always do things differently? Some people say change is impossible."

"Yeah, I’ve heard that theory," Natalie nodded. "And a lot of psychologists actually believe it."

"What about you?" Yevhen asked directly.

"I’m not that black-and-white," she said. "I don’t think you can completely transform into a different person. But… you can learn to adapt to certain situations."

"What do you mean?" Yevhen frowned. "How does that work?"

Natalie tilted her head, searching for the right example.

"Let’s say someone has a short fuse. They’re not going to suddenly become Zen. But they can learn to manage their anger—to not let it explode in the wrong situations. Or even channel it into something productive."

"Channel rage into something useful? That’s a thing?"

"Why not?" Natalie shrugged. "Anger can actually be a kind of fuel—it pushes us to act. Another option? Go for a run, hit the gym, burn off that tension, and reset your mind. There are lots of strategies. And if anger were your core issue, we’d figure out a method that works for you. But I don’t think aggression is really your problem."

"I’m not aggressive," he chuckled. "But I do like your approach… and I am open to learning how to manage my… hmm… temperament."

"It’s a bit early to go there," Natalie replied gently. "Honestly, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Being original and thinking creatively—that’s a strength. You’re unique. There’s nothing wrong with that."

"Being unique is hard," Yevhen sighed. He was still smiling, but it looked a little forced now. "People don’t understand you. They don’t accept you. And I haven’t even told you the half of it—what I shared was just the tip of the iceberg."

"Then tell me more," Natalie encouraged. "That’s what we’re here for, right?"

"Right…" Yevhen nodded slowly. "Okay… so, here’s something. I’ve never liked the traditional idea of family. Or any kind of conventional relationship, really. I’m not talking about flings—they’re whatever. I mean the serious stuff."

"You mean like loyalty and monogamy?" Natalie asked matter-of-factly, recalling a past client who genuinely believed in the concept of open love. Maybe Yevhen felt the same?

But he shook his head.

"Not exactly. I mean, sure, I don’t mind stepping out now and then… you know, for the thrill. But that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m talking about the boredom that creeps into relationships. The predictability. All the planning and discussing and doing things the ‘right’ way. The way you’re supposed to."

"I’m not quite following," Natalie admitted, shaking her head in mild confusion. "Don’t you plan things out in your life?"

"Sure—in business! But this is different. This is about relationships. They should be simpler… more spontaneous, more unpredictable. Don’t you think?" When he saw she still didn’t quite get it, he let out a breath and added, "Alright, let me give you an example… about a friend of mine. Well… my ex."

 

Yevhen: A Love Story

Her name was Katya. We met at a formal dinner I hosted for important international guests. She belonged to the management team—confident, full of energy… radiant, really. I noticed her right away and asked if she wanted to continue the conversation outside the event. Katya was all in. (Though she actually preferred being called "Kat," which I liked, too. I thought I’d found a kindred spirit—someone who saw the world the way I did. Unfortunately… I jumped to conclusions.)

We started seeing each other, and pretty quickly, what began as a casual fling turned into something more serious.

Did I love her? I’m not sure… maybe. There were a lot of things I liked about her—a lot.

First off, she was totally my type. Big brown eyes, brunette, slim but not too skinny. Just right. All the right curves in all the right places. And the way she walked—God, it was like she was dancing. Light on her feet. She didn’t walk—she floated.

I also loved that she wasn’t the moody or dramatic type. No constant complaining, no negativity. And she had a great sense of humor—which, let’s be honest, isn’t always easy to find in women. She was fun, quick to laugh, always smiling.

But the best part? Her appetite. I love women who actually eat. No diets, no picking at lettuce leaves… She loved good food, just like I do. Honestly, I can’t stand those forever-dieting girs—"I won’t eat this, can’t eat that… only carrots and cabbage for me!" Ugh. Kat wasn’t like that.

At first, everything was great between us—we clicked, in every way, including the bedroom. (She was actually more adventurous than most of the women I’d dated when it came to… fantasies.)

But then, not too long in—too soon, in my opinion—Kat started coming at me with these weird complaints. Out of nowhere! And it’s not like I was her husband or anything. Bit early for that, don’t you think?

What do I mean by weird complaints? Here’s a good example.

One Friday night, a buddy called and invited me to go fishing with him. Of course, I said yes—I’m a fishing junkie. So we headed out of town early the next morning, had an amazing time, caught a bunch of fish… I didn’t get back till around noon on Sunday.

And Kat? She was furious. Turns out, I was supposed to ask for permission or something! Because—get this—weekends are "sacred" and couples are supposed to spend them together. Her words, not mine. She hit me with the classic line: “We’re a couple now!”

Yeah… that didn’t sit right with me. The idea of being stuck in a relationship like that? No, thanks.

And no, we didn’t break up over the fishing trip—obviously. But that kind of thing happened all the time. And honestly? I got bored. So… we ended it.

* * *

“I get what you mean now,” Natalie said, stifling a sigh as Zhenya (oh, excuse me—YEVHEN!) finished the second part of his story. “You don’t actually want a real relationship. That’s what it sounds like.”

“You completely missed the point!” he snapped, shaking his head with sudden energy. “I do want a relationship! Just… damn it, with someone who’s reasonable.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow.

“Try putting yourself in her shoes. You wake up one morning, and she’s gone for the whole day—say, at a beauty salon. Doesn’t even tell you.”

“So what?” Yevhen shrugged. “Sounds great! She comes back refreshed, glowing, happier… maybe even missed me a little. What’s wrong with that?”

“Okay, bad example. What if she went out of town—like you did? But instead of fishing, it’s a girls’ trip to a lake. A picnic with her friends.”

“And again… so what?” he chuckled. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind going to a lake too, but that could happen some other day—without her friends. Why would I be upset? It’s not like I wouldn’t find something to do. Of course, I would! So what’s the issue?”

“It’s not necessarily an issue,” Natalie agreed, “but maybe you wanted to spend that day with her. And she didn’t consider that. Changed the plan without telling you.”

“If I had plans that involved Kat, wouldn’t I have told her?” Yevhen smirked. “How else was she supposed to know what I had in mind?”

“So, just to be clear,” Natalie asked, “you hadn’t made any plans with Kat—or ‘Katya’—when you went on that fishing trip?”

“Nope, no plans at all. That’s the problem!” he said, visibly agitated. “Look, if she had something specific in mind for the weekend, she should’ve run it by me. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere. I want to point out—I’ve never gone back on my word. Not once.”

“I see…” Natalie said thoughtfully.

But Yevhen wasn’t done. He was just warming up, his voice picking up intensity.

“She thought we were just automatically supposed to spend every weekend together. Like, by default. I mean—come on! That’s just weird to me…”

He leaned forward, eyes burning bright with conviction, color rising to his pale, angular face. Natalie couldn’t help but take him in for a moment. Not traditionally handsome by any means, Yevhen had a raw charisma—and this flash of righteous anger only made it more striking. That rare case where anger actually suited someone… maybe even made them more attractive.

“So tell me—where am I wrong?” he asked sharply, almost demanding an answer.

Natalie held back a smile. It always amused her, the way clients so often wanted her approval—wanted to hear she agreed with them, that she didn’t judge them.

And of course… judging someone who came to her for help would be deeply unprofessional. At least out loud.

“It’s not really about who’s right or wrong,” she said. “You’re absolutely entitled to your view… just like Kat is to hers. But ideally, it’s something you talk about upfront—figure out where you both stand, before things get muddy.”

“Talk about it… make agreements…” Yevhen’s face clouded, his expression turning sour. “Honestly? Talking about feelings—that’s another problem. One of my problems.”

“Really? What makes it a problem?”

“All that chit-chat is just… exhausting,” he said with frustration, letting out a theatrical sigh. “Conversations, emotional talks, heart-to-hearts… ugh, puts me right to sleep. And anyway, people can say whatever they want. What matters is what they actually do.”

Natalie offered a wistful smile.

“I agree with you—actions do matter more than words. But the thing is… we women? We tend to love with our ears. I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase?”

“Yeah… I’ve heard it,” he muttered, looking deflated. “But I’m not talking about compliments. That part’s fine—I have no problem telling a lovely woman that she’s lovely.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Natalie asked, genuinely puzzled. For what felt like the tenth time this session, she found herself completely thrown off by her unusual client. Well, the tougher the case, the more intriguing it got.

“Compliments are fine,” Yevhen explained. “Because they’re short!”

“Short?” she repeated, baffled now more than ever.

He nodded confidently.

“Yeah! Compliments don’t take up much time. But all that ‘let’s have a deep talk’ stuff… not for me.”

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘deep talk’?”

“Well, like, ‘Let’s talk about our feelings!’ Or ‘Where is this going?’ ‘What’s our future together?’ That kind of thing. To me, those are just empty words. Waste of time! Why talk about it? Sooner or later, it’ll be clear where things are headed—if anywhere—without all the chatter.”

Natalie nodded, satisfied with the explanation.

 “Okay, now I see. You know, you’re not exactly unique in feeling that way…”

“Oh really?” he said with something that almost sounded like offense—his tone was definitely displeased.

Natalie nodded again, a bit amused by his indignation.

“Men rarely enjoy… emotional conversations,” she said, hiding a smile. “And to be honest, I’m not much of a fan myself.”

“Seriously?” Yevhen looked genuinely surprised. “I always thought psychologists loved talking everything to death.”

That comment stung more than it should have.

“I get more than enough talking at work,” she replied curtly. “So in my personal life, I tend to be more… restrained. Verbally, anyway.”

Her own sharp reaction surprised—and almost unsettled—her. She wasn’t usually this sensitive. Natalie had long since learned the importance of keeping emotional distance from clients, no matter how likable… or attractive… they might be.

And Yevhen? He was definitely likable. She liked him—with all his quirks. Or… maybe because of them?

This isn’t going anywhere good, Natalie thought, sitting up straighter. Time to pump the brakes.

Yeah, getting attached to a client was a bad idea. She needed to get a grip, take a step back—before her overactive imagination started running away with her.

“But,” Yevhen went on, blissfully unaware of her internal detour, “there’s one topic I’m always ready to talk about. In fact, I want to talk about it. But my girlfriend usually avoids it.”

“Oh?” Natalie murmured, pulling herself back to the present. “Is there really a topic a woman refuses to discuss?”

“Not so much refuses,” he corrected her, eyes glinting with mischief. “More like… gets embarrassed. Sexual desires. Erotic fantasies. How do you feel about that topic?”

Oh, she felt very much about that topic.

Natalie had to work to suppress the pleasant shiver of anticipation rising in her body like a sweet, slow wave. In different circumstances, she’d gladly dive into his fantasies… maybe even help bring some of them to life. Why not? Who cared that he was younger? When it came to bedroom adventures, age was no obstacle. Quite the opposite—women in their 40s were often at their sexual peak. And him, the early 30s? Still in his prime. They’d be amazing together.

Sigh… dreams, dreams… Time to snap out of it.

Natalie forced herself to refocus on the conversation.

“Yes, I get what you’re saying. Unfortunately, a lot of us don't have proper sex education,” she said in a deliberately professional tone. “Our parents were products of the Soviet era… Sex wasn’t exactly taboo back then, but it was a shameful topic. They just didn’t know how to talk to us about these things… Hopefully, we’ve learned from their mistakes and can do better with the next generation.”

“Well, you nailed it,” Yevhen said with a dry, humorless chuckle. “My main sex ed teacher was the neighborhood. The older guys explained it all to me pretty early on… and let’s just say they didn’t sugarcoat anything.”

“I can imagine,” Natalie said, stifling a laugh.

“The street’s like that—brutally honest,” Sidorenko shrugged. “Then when I was maybe… twelve or thirteen, my parents handed me some boring book about ‘the birds and the bees.’”

“I’m guessing by that point you already had a general idea,” Natalie said confidently.

“Pretty much… in a rough and very crude sense. So the book didn’t exactly blow my mind. All that stuff about sperm and eggs just seemed dull… and didn’t explain much. The guys in the yard, they got to the point. They described the actual act! It sounded kind of weird to me at the time… a little uncomfortable… but also kind of fascinating.”

Natalie nodded, smiling faintly.

“Well… you’re not alone. A lot of people got their ‘sex ed’ in the same rough-and-tumble way. But it’s not really the best approach to something so important.”

“Isn’t it? We managed, didn’t we? We survived.”

“Sure, we survived. But we came away with a skewed view of sex. It picked up this… sense of something dirty or inappropriate. Guys tend to take it all in stride… but for girls, it’s usually more complicated. And the result is obvious: some women won’t even talk about it.”

“Some women, huh?” Yevhen grinned.

Natalie raised an eyebrow, her perfectly shaped, slightly glossed lips twitching into a half-smile.

“I can’t say we, because I’m not one of them. I let go of that baggage years ago. But not every woman can say the same. A lot of them go through life shackled by warped ideas of what sex is. Convinced it’s something shameful… or vulgar.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Yevhen said, his mood darkening. “Almost… hopeless.”

“Not at all,” she countered. “There’s always hope. But let’s circle back to the core question of today’s session: what exactly do you want from me? From these consultations? You’ve shared a lot of interesting things… but what do you see as your main issue?”

Yevhen didn’t answer right away. Tilting his head slightly, he chewed gently on his lower lip, clearly thinking it over.

“I’m… strange,” he finally said, carefully. “At least, that’s how a lot of people see me. I have unusual habits, quirky tastes… and I like my life the way it is. But… how normal am I, really? Where do you draw the line?”

“And what makes you think you’re not normal?” Natalie asked, genuinely surprised. “Having unique preferences doesn’t mean you have a mental disorder.”

Yevhen let out a chuckle and raised both hands, palms out, like he was surrendering.

“I didn’t mean a clinical disorder… but still. Am I a freak? And if so… how big of a deal is that?”

“How big of a deal?” Natalie repeated, losing the thread of the conversation for the umpteenth time. Yevhen had a way of talking in riddles. “To whom would that be a problem?”

Yevhen chewed his lip again, his gaze drifting out of focus.

“Well… let’s say it’s a problem for my social standing. For communication—in both work and personal life.”

“Well then,” Natalie said, her voice warm with interest, “let’s figure that out together.”

Damn, she definitely liked him! And she liked talking to him too… He was an interesting client, no doubt about that. Complicated, sure—but interesting. Maybe it was that very complexity, that unconventional way of thinking, that gave him his particular charm? Probably so.

"Alright, let’s talk about your habits and tastes. Where should we start?"

"My style," Yevhen replied eagerly, catching the ball she’d tossed. He sat in a relaxed, almost leisurely posture, the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. He seemed to be enjoying the conversation too—a rare thing in a therapist’s office.

"I like dressing extravagantly… creating bold looks."

"I can see that," Natalie said, giving him a sharp once-over. In his light embroidered shirt and those lavender pants that looked suspiciously like a skirt, bright red Crocs on his feet, and a quirky tuft of hair on his head, he stood out starkly against the sleek, minimalist decor of her office.

Yes, he was original… but was that a bad thing? Not at all!

"People give me weird looks. Some immediately assume I’m gay," Yevhen went on, with a hint of bitter irony. "Though, I think I already mentioned that..."

"You don’t like being mistaken for gay?" she asked matter-of-factly.

He shrugged.

"Eh… I mean, I don’t really care. But it makes it harder to connect with some people… and harder to hit it off with pretty girls," he added with a mischievous, boyish grin—one that was nearly impossible not to respond to.

Natalie didn’t even try to resist. She smiled back.

 "I’m sure there are plenty of women who’d be into someone like you… bold, unique."

Like me, she thought to herself. I’m into you.

 But did she qualify as a “pretty girl” in his eyes? Age-wise (40+), definitely not. And even in her youth, she probably wouldn’t have made the cut. Cute—sure. But a head-turner? Probably not.

With effort, Natalie stopped herself from drifting off into daydreams again and kept her voice calm, professional, steady:

"Just imagine you decided to switch things up—dress sporty, or in a more traditional business style. I think you’d actually look good in that, really. The question is, would you feel comfortable like that? I doubt it."

Yevhen visibly cringed at the thought.

“Brrr,” he laughed nervously, his face twisting in distaste. “What a nightmare! I mean… sure, I could wear a snazzy suit just for kicks—maybe for a week tops. Just to try on a new persona. But only temporarily. I’m not ready to shackle myself forever to blazers and neckties.”

"Exactly," Natalie nodded with satisfaction. "So then… why give up your harmless comfort for the sake of some hypothetical pretty girls? Wouldn’t it be better to find one who actually appreciates your love for the unconventional? Someone who accepts you exactly as you are?"

“That really narrows down the field,” Yevhen muttered, frowning. “Basically forces me to choose one woman and settle down. I’m not sure I’m ready for that…”

"You’re just not ready yet," Natalie gently corrected him. "But when you meet someone who truly gets you… who knows? Maybe you’ll fall for her—really fall. Head over heels."

Yevhen smiled, soft and thoughtful, his expression tinged with a dreaminess.

"I’d like that… to fall head over heels. But what do I do now, while that hasn’t happened yet? I mean, we all have basic human needs, right? We can’t just ignore them. We can’t wait around forever for ‘the one’ to come along and start… um… fulfilling them on a regular basis.”

Natalie stifled a chuckle.

"Very tactfully put! But yes, I get what you mean. So… until that special someone shows up and sweeps you off your feet—and into her bed, too—why not just dress for the occasion?"

This time, it was Yevhen’s turn to blink in confusion.

“Dress for the occasion?” he repeated. “What occasion?”

“For the hunt,” she said with a sly smile. Then added, more clearly: “The hunt for women. Say you’re planning to meet someone new, or going on a date—especially a first date—you could dress accordingly, right? Not force yourself to be a dandy all the time… but spruce yourself up when it makes sense. So you don’t come across as too… out-there, to yet another pretty girl.”

A spark lit in Yevhen’s eyes.

“Now that sounds more like it!” he grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s almost like a game… I can get behind that. Thanks for the idea! See, this session already feels worth it.”

“Glad to hear it,” she laughed. “And hopefully this is just the beginning. I’d love to help you more in future sessions. Shall we keep going?”

“Absolutely!” Yevhen replied with gusto. Leaning back in the chair, he looked totally at ease—like he wasn’t in a therapist’s office at all, but chatting with a close friend. And Natalie didn’t mind one bit. She was enjoying their slow, meandering conversation. Most of the clients gave her a completely different feeling.

"Alright, point number two: your passion for originality in cooking. What bothers you about that?"

Yevhen shrugged.

 "I don’t know... Maybe I go overboard? Maybe I should stick to simpler dishes?"

"Is your menu really that unconventional?" Natalie asked, intrigued.

"Oh yeah." He gave a crooked smile. "What do you think about bees in buckwheat honey, for example? As a dessert—kind of like candy."

"Sounds terrifying," Natalie admitted honestly.

That answer seemed to disappoint him. His face clouded, and after a brief pause he said bitterly:

"Yep. That’s what most people think. It freaks them out."

"But that’s not always a bad thing. What scares people can also intrigue them... I might even be tempted to try something that unusual."

"So you think originality in cooking is a good thing, right?" Yevhen asked.

"I’m not an expert in food, cooking, or business, but from a layperson’s point of view, originality helps you build a unique, recognizable brand. It makes you memorable."

"Exactly." Yevhen nodded. "My restaurant really does have a strong identity… but the same issue comes up—just like with women."

"Which is?"

"It narrows the field. Makes hunting harder," Sidorenko clarified. "Except in this case, the hunt isn’t for women… it’s for customers. And customers mean profit."

Natalie tilted her head thoughtfully. Sure, advising on business wasn’t part of her job—technically, as a psychologist, she wasn’t even supposed to give advice, just guide. But this was a refreshing change of pace from the usual client complaints. Discussing cuisine and branding was way more fun than yet another conversation about burnout or a failing marriage.

"I had to set pretty high prices…" Yevhen continued, clearly frustrated. "Otherwise, the place wouldn’t survive. And I do have customers, so it’s fine, financially speaking. But money’s not everything."

"Absolutely," Natalie agreed readily. "Work takes up so much of our lives—it should bring not just income, but also satisfaction. Joy."

"Sure thing!" Yevhen leaned forward in his seat, eyes lighting up. That spark in his gaze transformed his whole face again—suddenly, it looked alive… almost handsome. "You see the problem? My weirdo little restaurant only attracts a narrow group—wealthy folks. People who are bored of traditional food and want something new. Something weird. And let me say this: if you do take the risk and show up… and try what I make… ha! You will come back because the food is actually good. Believe me."

"I do believe you," Natalie said sincerely. "So what’s the problem then? What don’t you like?"

"I don’t like that people with average or lower incomes can’t afford to come. And there might be plenty of curious folks among them, too. I don’t want to limit myself to just the upper crust! Do you get it? I don’t want that… but right now, I can’t afford to lower prices. It’s a dilemma."

"What if you added a few simpler dishes to the menu, alongside your bees in honey and whatever else?" Natalie suggested after a pause. "You could attract a broader audience… and eventually even reduce the price of the more, um, ‘creative’ items."

Yevhen winced, his expression turning sour.

"Simple dishes? Like mashed potatoes and meatballs?" he scoffed dismissively.

Natalie shrugged.

"I’m no chef… not exactly a food connoisseur. But… something along those lines. Maybe not mashed potatoes and meatballs, but something a bit more familiar to the average diner—someone like me," she said with a modest smile. "Like… seafood pasta, for instance?"

"My place is focused on Ukrainian cuisine," Sidorenko objected quickly. "Modernized, sure, but still Ukrainian. Seafood doesn’t really fit the concept."

"Okay… then I don’t know. Stuffed cabbage? Cherry-filled dumplings? Pelmeni?"

"Boring…" Yevhen sighed. "But… yeah. I guess compromise is necessary. That’s what you’re hinting at, aren’t you?"

"I’m not hinting—I’m saying it directly," she replied with a sly smile. "If you insist on always doing things your way, you won’t get far. You’ve got to be flexible."

"Hmm… I’ll think about it. Maybe I will try that… and even simple dishes can be jazzed up a little! Not just plain old dumplings… but maybe something a little different. Like a filling made with chicken liver?" His gaze became unfocused, while his voice drifted off like he was talking to himself now. "You can always get creative with the basics..."

Natalie gently reminded him she was still there:

"Just don’t get too carried away. Be creative—but within reason."

Yevhen pulled himself out of his thoughts and gave her a confused look.

"What do you mean, within reason?"

"If you start making dumplings with too many… odd fillings, you won’t achieve the desired effect," she said with a shrug. "The whole point is to add traditional, approachable dishes… for regular folks like me."

"Regular folks?" Yevhen let out a playful snort, his eyes glinting with mischief. "That’s the second time you’ve called yourself ‘average’ or ‘ordinary.’ But I disagree. You’re clearly not one of the gray masses. That much is obvious."

Natalie couldn’t help but smile back at him. A compliment from a client—especially one as charismatic as Yevhen? A rare thing… and, damn, it felt good. Flattering, even.

“Well, maybe I just haven’t had the chance to properly test my culinary preferences,” the woman admitted, a faint smile playing on her lips. “If I’m ever in Kyiv… I mean, when I’m in Kyiv,” she quickly corrected herself. “I’ll stop by your restaurant and try the scariest dish on the menu!”

“Why wait?” he said with a shrug and a grin. “I’m inviting you to the charity event I’m hosting—actually, that’s the reason I’m here in Warsaw. I’ve got a couple of tickets left, so it won’t cost you a thing. My treat!”

“How generous,” she replied, smiling again. “Well then… I’ll hold you to that. I’d be glad to come.”

And really, why not? Natalie didn’t mind the idea of seeing him in a more casual setting—outside the four walls of her therapy office. Those walls imposed certain rules, kept things within the bounds of “appropriate behavior.”

“Just so you know, there’ll be more than just eccentric dishes on the menu that night,” Yevhen warned. “If it were up to me, I’d go all in on the weird stuff. But, as you wisely pointed out, sometimes you have to be flexible. Since we’re trying to raise as much money as possible, I had to compromise. Unfortunately.”

“But will the honeyed bees make the cut?” Natalie asked with mock seriousness, trying to hide her smile. “I have to admit, that one really intrigued me.”

“No bees, I’m afraid,” Yevhen said, mildly disappointed, then added with a promising smile, “But I will surprise you. Pleasantly, I hope. We’ll put your culinary tastes to the test—in the field!”

“That sounds… a little threatening,” Natalie laughed, a bit flustered. Not so much by the invitation itself, but by how she was reacting to it. She should have politely declined—or if she accepted, it should’ve been purely out of professional curiosity. But she knew that wasn’t the real reason. The truth was… she wanted to see Yevhen as a man, not a client.

“Great, it’s a date then!” he said, drawing an invisible line in the air. “I’ll send your ticket over by email tonight. Pretty sure I have your address.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Natalie replied with a measured smile, not entirely sure whether he was being serious. In the end, people say things all the time... “But for now, shall we get back to it? So, we’ve covered cooking and women. What else is on your… hmm… list of quirks?”

“Women again!” he chuckled. “Actually, we didn’t cover that topic fully. We only talked about the beginning of relationships. The most interesting part is still ahead.”

“Oh? And what part is that?”

“What do you mean?” Yevhen looked surprised. “Sex, of course! Isn’t that the most interesting part of any relationship?”

“Well… it depends on how serious the relationship is,” Natalie answered cautiously. “But yes, sex is a very important piece of the puzzle.”

“Right!” Yevhen said with conviction, raising his index finger for emphasis. “Without that piece, the whole structure crumbles. So… should we talk about it? Or is that… awkward?”

For a moment, it was hard for her to breathe.

“Why would it be?” she replied slowly, resisting the urge to unbutton the top of her blouse just to let in more air. “We can talk about anything that’s on your mind. So… sex. If I understand correctly, you’ve got a few… quirks here too?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Yevhen smirked, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “You could say that. Nothing forbidden, just… a little unusual.”

“Like what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Yevhen squinted slightly, tilting his head as if trying to gauge just how uncomfortable she was—and whether he should keep going.

A storm of emotions raged inside Natalie… but embarrassment wasn’t one of them. Still, there was no need for Yevhen to know her true feelings… it was better to keep them under wraps—from him, from others… maybe even from herself. It wouldn’t do for a client to sense a crack in his psychologist’s composure. To realize that the professional woman across from him… was still a woman first.

“Yes,” Natalie said clearly, with a hint of defiance in her voice, locking eyes with him. “I want to know.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he laughed.

 

Yevhen: Secret Desires

Picture this. Relax and let your imagination run free… Free and wild.

It’s Friday—the last workday before a very special weekend. Not just any weekend, but one you've planned around a full-blown sex marathon—the kind where the outside world fades away until there’s nothing left but the two of you… and an ocean of pure pleasure.

But before you can step through that door and dive headfirst into the adventure, you’ve got to prepare—and the most important part of that preparation? A temporary ban on food.

Yep, you heard me. No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. No snacks either! Only water, black coffee, or tea. You can add sugar to your drink—sweeten the anticipation a little—but that’s it. Not a crumb more.

I know, it’s no easy task. You’ll need all your willpower and discipline to get through it. But trust me, the reward will be more than worth it.

So let’s say you survive this impossibly long, impossibly hard day… and now, at last, evening arrives. The moment of truth is near! You're about to satisfy your hunger—and not just the kind that comes from skipping meals. But yes… that too.

You and your partner are headed out of town to a cabin you booked in advance—preferably tucked away somewhere beautiful and private. Maybe in the woods, by a lake… wherever, as long as it’s quiet and secluded.

You’ve packed everything you need for an unforgettable weekend: drinks, snacks, fruit, sweets… maybe even a few intimate toys to spice things up. And of course—the turkey. Yes, the turkey. Tonight, it’s the centerpiece. Or rather, the grand finale. But all in good time.

You arrive. You unpack. You settle in. You’re both starving—for affection, for touch… and yes, for food. And that hunger? It sharpens everything. Every sensation is brighter, more intense.

You put the turkey in the oven, letting it roast in fragrant herbs and spices… and while it bakes, you give yourselves over to passion.

There’s nothing quite like making love on an empty stomach while the air fills with rich, mouthwatering aromas. It’s dizzying, intoxicating… primal. Hunger, scent, touch—they all blur into a wild, sensual storm.

And then—perfect timing—the turkey is ready. Exhausted from round after round of intense sex, you bring dinner to bed. Who cares about crumbs or stains? It’s time to feast! Wine is poured—maybe even champagne. Why hold back now?

You eat and drink with the same raw hunger you brought to the bedroom. You melt into the pleasure of it all… until finally, in the early hours, you fall asleep in each other’s arms—drunk on lust and sparkling wine, every craving finally satisfied. Every craving.

And this? This is only the beginning. You still have two whole days ahead—days filled with food, champagne, and of course… love.

* * *

“In short, there it is… one of my quirky little fantasies,” said Yevhen, his tone now completely different—stripped of that gentle dreaminess he’d used while describing his dream weekend to Natalie.

She cleared her throat, trying to steady her breath. The picture he painted was mouthwateringly vivid… in every sense of the word. Literal. Sensual. Secret. Suddenly, Natalie remembered she hadn’t had lunch. And that her bed had been far too empty for far too long.

Snapping back to reality after a story like that was no easy feat.

“One of… your fantasies?” she repeated, attempting a smile. But her lips refused to cooperate, just like her voice, which sounded almost foreign. “You have… a lot of those?”

“Oh yes,” Yevhen nodded, a distant look returning to his eyes. He seemed to drift off somewhere far away… maybe back into that wild world of his dreams. “Imagination has never been a problem for me—especially that kind.”

“So what’s wrong with your story? The one you just… uh… shared with me?” Natalie asked after another small cough, relieved that her voice had regained its usual composure. She even managed a natural smile this time.

“My story?” Yevhen echoed, genuinely puzzled.

Natalie gestured vaguely, trying to reframe her question.

“You mentioned your sexual desires and fantasies are a little unconventional—what did you call them? ‘Freak fantasies’? And you gave me an example… only I didn’t hear anything that unusual or deviant.”

“I never said deviant,” Yevhen corrected her firmly, sitting up straighter in his chair. He shook his head emphatically, his voice full of conviction. “Deviant implies something unhealthy… maybe even illegal. I meant weird in a harmless way.”

“So what’s so weird about your fantasy?” she asked. “Personally, I find it… spicy. And kind of mesmerizing.”

“Well… I agree with you. I don’t think there’s anything weird about it either. But women tend to think differently.”

“Clearly, not all women,” Natalie countered coolly. “Just the ones you choose… apparently.”

Yevhen smiled at her—wide, playful, maybe even a little suggestive. Natalie wasn’t sure if she imagined the undertone.

“Fair point,” he chuckled. “I do seem to choose the wrong women. Maybe it’s time to… broaden my horizons.”

She felt a flush creep up her cheeks and silently prayed that the foundation she applied that morning was doing its job. Damn it—what was happening to her? She was acting like some flustered teenager, not a trained psychologist. (Okay, unlicensed, sure—but still seasoned and experienced!)

“Give it some thought… in your spare time,” Natalie offered after a brief pause, injecting her voice with casual ease. “For now, let’s get back to my question. What is it, exactly, that other women find so strange about your fantasy?”

Yevhen sighed and shrugged.

“They complain that I starve them all day. Like, why fast the entire time? And many of them obsess over silly stuff like their figure.”

“Silly stuff?” Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Come on. That’s not so silly… at least not for most women. Don’t you want your partner to look good?”

“Of course,” he admitted. “But I’m not asking anyone to gorge 24/7. Her figure won’t suffer if she lets loose every now and then.”

“Well, that’s fair,” Natalie conceded.

“And it’s not like we’d just be eating all day!” he burst out, ignoring her reply. His cheeks flushed, his eyes gleamed with energy—and that sudden fire seemed to transform the features of his not-quite-handsome face. “We’d be burning off those calories too… you know, making love.”

Natalie’s breath hitched. God, he was attractive like this—oddly attractive. All his quirks, all those eccentricities… they gave him a unique charm. Sure, some might call him a freak. But so what? Labels were meaningless. They certainly meant nothing to her.

“Well… if you ask me, your fantasy seems pretty reasonable,” she said, forcing herself to stay composed, even as her thoughts threatened to drift elsewhere.

“So… you’re saying I’ve just been looking for partners in the wrong places?” Yevhen asked after a thoughtful pause. He seemed to seriously consider her words, sifting through mental options, as if trying to picture the kind of woman who might actually get his fantasies.

Natalie could have told him where to find such a woman. One just happened to be sitting right across from him. Sure, she wasn’t in her twenties anymore… but she had life experience, and a certain mature allure. Age wasn’t always a disadvantage—sometimes, it was even an asset.

“Yes, I think you need to expand your romantic horizons,” she replied aloud, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got an open mind about food… and a lot of other things. But not about women.”

“Seriously?” he looked almost offended. “What makes you say that?”

She gave a small shrug and smiled more openly—apologetically, maybe.

“You tend to go for women who fit a certain checklist: size 3 breasts, slim waist, long legs… 25 years old, tops. What else is on that list?”

Yevhen flushed, and Natalie knew she’d hit the mark.

“Well… maybe you’re exaggerating a little,” he said slowly, the color fading from his hollow cheeks. “Although… you’re not entirely wrong. Huh. Never thought I was that… predictable.”

“Not in every way,” she reassured him. “Just when it comes to women.”

He nodded, fell silent, and began chewing his lower lip—deep in thought. For a moment, it seemed he’d forgotten Natalie was even there.

“So?” she gently prodded. “Any conclusions?”

He blinked and snapped back to reality.

“Sorry… got a little lost in thought,” he said with a fading smile. “About your question—well… it’s too early to draw final conclusions. But I can say this: turns out, psychologists aren’t totally useless!”

Natalie gave a nervous laugh, disarmed by his bluntness.

“Honest,” she noted with a wry smile. “Or is that payback for my comment about your ‘type’?”

Yevhen chuckled.

“Not at all! I’m not that easily offended… and don’t get me wrong—I respect psychologists and therapists. I really do. I’m sure they help a lot of people. I just didn’t think I was one of them.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“Well… I’ve never been one to look for a shoulder to cry on.”

“A shoulder?” Natalie echoed, puzzled.

“I mean, I’ve never felt the need to vent to someone. Complain. Whine about my life,” he clarified, snapping his fingers as he searched for the right words. “I just don’t need that, that’s all.”

“That’s how you see us?” she sighed. “Just… a shoulder to cry on?”

“That was before I met you,” he said quickly. “You’ve shown me that psychologists aren’t just for heart-to-hearts and sob stories.”

“Oh really?” she teased. “And what are we good for, then?”

Tilting her head, Natalie waited, half-curious and half-amused—always intrigued by how the public defined her profession.

“To help make sense of things… break down a problem from every angle. And, well, it never hurts to get an outside perspective.”

She nodded, satisfied. He wasn’t wrong. Natalie never tried to force her worldview onto clients or offer cookie-cutter solutions. No, her methods were gentler… more intuitive. A subtle nudge here, a helpful insight there. And usually, it worked.

“So… am I right to assume you’ve already got everything sorted and I won’t be seeing you again?” she asked, not without a twinge of regret.

“Oh, you’ll see me again!” he grinned. His eyes sparkled mischievously. “I did invite you to my dinner party, remember? But seriously, I’m not naive—or arrogant—enough to think I’ve got it all figured out after one session. I’ll be back. Maybe virtually… but I’ll be back.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re being realistic,” Natalie said with quiet satisfaction, carefully masking how pleased she was by his answer. “And I’m glad you’ll return… even if it’s just virtually.”

Of course, she’d rather see him in person… and not in her office… and definitely not as a client. But for now, she had to take what she could get.

 

The Dinner Invitation

Like any normal woman, Natalie cared about her appearance—and sometimes, maybe a little too much. Tonight was one of those days. She had spent what felt like ages primping in front of the mirror.

The reason? A formal dinner hosted by her charming new client… Yevhen. He hadn’t forgotten his offhand promise and had, in fact, followed through by sending her a proper invitation—which she accepted with a thrill of anticipation and more than a little excitement.

Driven by that excitement, Natalie had gone the extra mile with her grooming. But the effort had paid off. The transformation was striking: the elegant, composed psychologist now looked like a sultry, self-assured woman radiating mature femininity. There was nothing cheap or try-hard about her appearance—no desperate attempt to shave off the years and pass for a twenty-something. Let them see, loud and clear, that a lady over forty can be damn attractive—and can hold her own against any smug little nymphet.

“You really do like him, huh?” she asked her reflection with a sly smirk. The woman in the mirror smirked right back.

Yes, she liked Yevhen. But the real question was… would he like her—like this?

Natalie gave herself one more critical once-over and decided she had nothing to be ashamed of. She looked good. No false modesty about it. Striking green eyes, shoulder-length chestnut hair, average height. Her pale face with its fine features had been artfully made up, and her luscious figure was hugged tightly by a dark plum dress that subtly emphasized every tempting curve. Sure, someone might call her hips a bit plump—but so what? That waistline? That full, shapely bust? Plenty of men were very into that kind of body. Hopefully, Yevhen was one of them.

Well… she’d soon find out what kind of women he liked. And if she wasn’t quite his type, she had her own weapons to fall back on. It had been far too long since she’d flexed her seduction skills. Time to let them breathe a little.

* * *

Under any other circumstances, Natalie would never have shown up to an event like this without a date—or at the very least, a friend in tow. Better to walk in with a girlfriend than drift around alone like some forgotten aunt. But tonight was different. Very different. This was the kind of evening where showing up solo wasn’t just acceptable—it was strategic.

After all, why bring along a potential rival? That would just get in the way. And a male companion? Even worse. Her mission was crystal clear: to demonstrate that she was unattached—and very much open to romance… or maybe something more?

Not that Natalie was naïve enough to imagine anything more than a fiery, fleeting affair. The age gap, different cities, different lifestyles—it all added up to a whole list of reasons why nothing long-term with the charming culinary maestro could ever work out.

And that was fine by her. A short-lived fling, even if it never left the bedroom, would be more than enough. Marriage? Please. She wasn’t chasing some fairytale ending—she just wanted to unwind, have a little fun. And Yevhen seemed like the perfect candidate for that.

Sure, it might cost her a client. But so what? Was it really such a big loss? What mattered more—another invoice from a routine consultation, or the thrill of desire, the rush of emotion? Natalie hadn’t made up her mind yet. She hadn’t decided which option made more sense “in the long run” (as they say in business). But really, what was the rush? Why overthink it? Life had a way of working things out.

We’ll see how it goes, she thought, pushing those lingering doubts off to some undefined “later.” For now, she just needed to enjoy herself—and make the most of this evening.

Which is exactly what she did. She slipped into the atmosphere with ease. Despite arriving alone and Yevhen being far too busy to pay her any real attention (as expected), Natalie wasn’t bored for a second. Who had time to be bored? The servers moved like clockwork, carrying around culinary masterpieces and refilling glasses with practiced grace. The host kept the mood upbeat with clever stories, and when he needed a break, he brought on dancers, singers, and actors—none of them second-rate, either. Natalie even recognized a couple, and she wasn’t exactly tuned into the celebrity world.

In short, the event was top-tier. Smooth, classy, and entertaining.

Natalie took her time with dinner, savoring every bite, resisting the urge to overdo it on the wine (she wanted to stay clear-headed until the end). Her gaze drifted now and then to the stage—but always found its way back to the man of the hour: Yevhen.

He appeared beside the host whenever it was time to present the next “chef’s creation”—to share the dish’s story, break down the ingredients, whet the audience’s appetite. And he did it with flair. Just as brilliantly as he cooked.

Speaking of the food—Natalie sampled each new course with genuine curiosity. Some dishes she approached with cautious skepticism (those ingredient pairings were wild), others she welcomed wholeheartedly. And one thing was clear: Mr. Sydorenko hadn’t won that cooking competition for nothing. The man was talented. Maybe even brilliant. Plenty of chefs could cook well. But to cook with imagination, boldness, and creativity? That took something special. And Yevhen had it.

Sure, not everyone would be brave enough to bite into candied bees or whatever other extravagant surprise he had up his sleeve. Not everyone would get him or his bold culinary vision. But that’s the fate of most geniuses, isn’t it? They’re misunderstood… until they’re celebrated.

Damn, he looks good, Natalie thought, openly admiring him without a shred of embarrassment. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black with gold embroidery—he was striking. Not conventionally handsome, no. But bursting with charisma, charm, and that wild spark of life. Oh, yes. He was worth her attention. To hell with the consultations. Feelings were worth more than money—especially when she had no shortage of other clients.

So, it was settled. The moment Yevhen had a minute to breathe, she’d make her move. And he’d better brace himself—because she wasn’t planning to hold back.

No chance he could resist.

 

…One Week Later…

“This is even better than I imagined…” Natalie murmured sleepily, eyes closed as she nestled against Yevhen’s bare chest. “Better than my wildest fantasies…”

“Better than your fantasies, huh?” he chuckled, not bothering to open his eyes. He was sprawled out on the bed, completely relaxed and content—a surprising transformation, considering how different he’d been just moments earlier. Fiery, intense, and at times almost aggressively passionate.

“You have very vivid fantasies… tough competition,” he added lazily.

“Well, you managed to top them,” she murmured. 

Her body still tingled, glowing with the aftershocks of their long, unhurried night of indulgence. A delicious kind of exhaustion had settled in—a warm, drowsy bliss that wrapped around her like a blanket. Yevhen had been right all along: fasting had given their night together an extra edge… something spicier, more intoxicating. And no—she didn’t regret a thing.

Well, the hunger for each other had been thoroughly satisfied (and then some). Now it was time to deal with the other type of hunger… assuming, of course, they could muster the strength to actually get out of bed. Dinner, unfortunately, wasn’t going to serve itself.

Natalie inhaled deeply, catching the rich scent of roasting turkey in the air. Her stomach growled, and she stifled a groan. The aroma made her ravenous—primal, even. She grinned, savoring the promise of a different kind of pleasure. This might just be the best meal of her life. After a full day of fasting, anything would taste amazing… but when it was cooked by a culinary genius? That was another level entirely.

“That was the best night of my life,” she said softly, almost to herself. And it wasn’t flattery—it was the honest truth. In that moment, she believed every word.

“Don’t speak too soon,” Yevhen replied with a sly smile. “Your best night’s still ahead… I’ve got a vivid imagination too, you know.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Natalie laughed, her voice husky and unfamiliar in her own ears. “Trust me—I’ve definitely noticed.”

…To Natali’s relief, she didn’t have to drag herself out of bed—Yevhen had taken charge of dinner, and quite insistently so.

“You’d never get it right,” he declared with comic finality.

And Natalie didn’t argue. In fact, she didn’t even take offense. Wouldn’t get it right? Well, so be it. Even better this way. And to be fair, he probably was right—she couldn’t quite match his level in the kitchen… not in skill, and certainly not in presentation.

Thirty minutes later, the turkey had been thoroughly demolished—or at least, close to it. Natalie had never been shy about her appetite, but polishing off that much bird in one sitting had always seemed a stretch. Ha! She’d underestimated her body’s capabilities. Turns out, it could do a lot—especially after a wild, passionate clash of bodies on an empty stomach.

They ate with their hands, no pretense, no etiquette—like wild things. And it was glorious.

“I’m in heaven,” Natalie said honestly, tempted to lick the cherry-cream sauce from her fingers rather than wash it down the drain. “This is unreal…”

“Damn right,” Yevhen replied, mouth full. “Turkey turned out amazing. Although, let’s be honest, right now you’d probably enjoy anything—even that awful sour soup from our neighbor country… the one-that-must-not-be-named.”

“You mean shchi?” Natalie smirked, tearing into the final piece of meat. Honestly, she was already stuffed—her stomach protesting with every bite—but she knew she’d regret leaving even a scrap behind.

“I’ve never actually tried it,” she admitted.

“Not missing much,” Yevhen said, pushing his empty plate aside and stretching with satisfaction. “But let’s talk about something nice for a change. I forgot to ask—what dishes did you like most at the banquet?”

“There were a lot of great ones,” she replied, wiping her greasy lips with the back of her hand, completely unbothered. “Honestly, pretty much everything. But if I had to pick a few standouts… definitely the duck in elderberry syrup and the smoked pear dessert. Oh, and the pork-fat ice cream! I was terrified to try it at first… but it was genius.”

“Good choices,” Yevhen nodded approvingly. He seemed pleased. “Especially the ice cream—unique, right?”

“Very. And so silky… actually, is that supposed to be a dessert or an appetizer? I wasn’t sure. It’s sweet, but only a little… more like savory-sweet.”

“Let’s call it sweet-ish savory,” Yevhen laughed. “Or savory-ish sweet!”

“Still doesn’t answer the question—dessert or appetizer?”

“My vote’s for dessert… but you might be right. It could go either way. Something to ponder.”

Natalie relished the casual back-and-forth. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed a simple conversation this much—not to mention everything else. The evening had been perfect from the very start. Simple. Beautiful. Blissful, in a way that needed no explanation.

Pity there was no future here. No future for them. Then again… maybe that was the secret? Maybe it was the very lack of future that made things so easy between them. No pressure. No expectations. No awkward promises or romantic delusions. Just… freedom.

“Gotta say, your therapy services exceeded expectations,” Yevhen said later that night, once dinner was a fond memory and the two sleepy lovers lay curled up together, hovering at the edge of night dreams. “Not the direction I expected things to go… but highly effective.”

Natalie gave a nervous laugh, flustered and slightly annoyed.

“Let’s hope no one ever finds out just how unprofessional I’ve been.”

“If you’re talking about this… mmm… whatever this is,” Yevhen said, brushing his lips against her ear, “then your secret’s safe with me. I don’t share my personal life. Ever.”

He paused theatrically, then added with mock indignation: “But why call it unprofessional? I was being serious! Your approach was… unconventional, sure. But damn effective.”

“Really?” Natalie raised a brow, unsure if he was teasing or not. “Effective, you say?”

“Absolutely. I realized I don’t need to force myself to change completely… just shift my perspective a bit. Adapt, you know?”

“Sounds good,” she admitted. “The real question is—how do you adapt?”

“Well, I’ve already made progress,” he said. “Take the restaurant, for instance. I’m going to follow your advice and add a line of simpler dishes—stuff more people can relate to. That way, I can attract a broader audience… and lower the prices.”

“Smart move,” Natalie nodded, secretly flattered. It felt good—no, amazing—to be listened to. Not as a therapist, but as someone with insight. With real, valuable input.

“And as for my personal life…” Yevhen went on, completely unaware of the thoughts running through her head. “You were right about that too. I’ve had a narrow view of women. Had. I need to… expand my search radius.”

His hand gently caressed her bare shoulder, absentmindedly affectionate. Comforting, almost. Like an apology—Sorry I’m talking about other women while still in bed with you.

“Yeah… expand away,” Natalie muttered darkly, stung by the careless remark. Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to him that even therapists had feelings. Feelings that could be hurt.

You did this to yourself, she scolded silently. You knew exactly what you were doing when you climbed into bed with him. Did you really think it was anything more than a temporary fling?

“I’m glad I could be… helpful to you,” she said aloud, forcing her voice to stay even. No sarcasm. No sting.

But Yevhen was sharper than he let on.

“Don’t be upset,” he said gently. “You’re… extraordinary. The most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed her just below the ear, whispering:

“And right now, we’re here. Together. What happens tomorrow… well, no one knows.”

His hand slid down her body with practiced ease, and Natalie leaned into the touch, responding willingly to the silent invitation to pick up where they left off.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “No one knows what tomorrow will bring…”

The next minutes belonged entirely to Eros. They made love slowly, hungrily, expertly… and eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms, exhausted and deeply, deliciously content.

 

Epilogue

Natalie had been putting it off for ages, hesitant to dial the familiar number—fully aware, and not without a pang of bitterness, that the upcoming conversation wasn’t likely to be pleasant. Unfortunately.

Before she could bring herself to do it, she poured herself a glass of dry red wine, nibbled on some chocolate (her brain practically screamed for glucose!), and even made a half-hearted attempt to meditate… all in vain. Her nerves refused to settle. So much for courage.

Imagine that—such a preparation, just to call her own son! Seriously, how absurd was that?

Well… the truth was, her relationships with those closest to her had unraveled. Once upon a time, things had been more or less stable—ups and downs like any normal family—but that changed for good after the divorce. When Natalie’s husband became her ex, it turned out he’d been the glue holding the whole fragile structure together. Holding them together.

Then came the war, and whatever mutual understanding—or was it just mutual tolerance?—they’d had left shattered completely. Her mother viewed Natalie’s emigration as betrayal, stubbornly refusing to follow her out of the country… and Platon, her son, had straight-up called her move to Poland a coward’s escape. And he’d emphasized her cowardness more than once.

Distance, at least for their family, turned out to be no remedy.

“Alright… no point waiting for some perfect moment,” Natalie muttered, setting her half-empty wineglass aside and pulling her laptop closer.

It was time.

She found her son’s name in her Telegram contacts and fired off a quick message before she could second-guess herself: “Good evening! We were going to catch up today… maybe now? Do you have time?”

Platon replied almost immediately: “Hey. Okay, I’ll call you in a couple of minutes on Messenger. Video call, so be dressed decently.”

Natalie sighed and shook her head. When exactly had she ever shown up to a call indecently dressed?

“Fine, you win—I’ll get out of the bath and throw on a robe!” she typed back, smirking sarcastically… hoping he’d play along with the same dry humor.

No such luck. He didn’t take the bait. Didn’t reply at all.

So she waited. And hoped for the best.

…Her hopes for a “better” outcome quickly crumbled. Platon was in a grim mood—closed off, uninterested, answering her questions in monosyllables. He looked downright bored, making it painfully obvious he was doing her a favor just by showing up.

You should be grateful I’m even talking to you. That was the vibe.

"So... how are things in your love life? I mean, personal battlefield." Natalie asked, trying for a cheerful tone. Even to her own ears, it rang hollow.

“Battlefield, really?” Platon gave a bitter, unpleasant smirk. “Bad choice of words, considering there’s a war going on.”

A flush of shame crept up her cheeks. God, how could she have said something so tone-deaf?

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Didn’t think about the… associations.”

Platon stared at her with that cold, mocking look of his. His narrow face, all sharp cheekbones and clipped expressions, radiated a kind of ironic disdain.

“Well, you know… a psychologist shouldn’t make such mistakes. Then again—you’re not a real psychologist, are you? Just a fake.”

Natalie stifled a sigh. He knew every one of her weak spots and jabbed at them with surgical precision—ruthless, just like his father. Pavel.

At least she could divorce him.

But a son? That’s not someone you can simply walk away from. A son is forever.

Or is he? Pavel didn’t think so. After the divorce, he’d all but cut Platon out of his life, reduced their communication to near zero. And the cruel twist? Platon never forgave either of them—not just his father, but her, too. Because she was the one who’d ended it and asked for divorce. She was the one who broke the family. 

Still, Natalie had no intention of following Pavel’s example. Platon was an adult now, yes. He could live his own life—and he did—but that didn’t mean he didn’t need his mother. One day, sooner or later, he’d understand that. And her job was to be there in the right moment.

“If you really want to know,” Platon went on, snapping her out of her thoughts, “my love life’s dead quiet. Total flatline. I’m sure yours is more exciting than mine.”

Natalie blushed again. What was that supposed to mean? Was he actually curious about her romantic life? Now, of all times? When her current partner wasn’t much older than he was… Did he suspect something?

“So, come on,” he teased, prodding. “Did I guess right?”

“No, you didn’t,” she snapped. “Nothing’s going on. Nothing worth your interest, anyway.”

And it wasn’t even a lie. Her private life was private for a reason. The bedroom was not for public access—and certainly not for her son. That was one boundary she would never cross.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Platon muttered with a look of disgust. “Spare me the sordid details of your flings… gross.”

His words stung. Deeply. Only the people closest to us can hurt us like that—because they know exactly where to aim.

“Then why ask me at all?” she said coldly, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re so disgusted?”

Platon didn’t even flinch.

“I don’t need the juicy stuff,” he said with a mocking shrug. “Just curious, in general. Gotta know who the next Daddy might be.”

It took effort—real effort—not to snap at him. What an insufferable brat. He was doing this on purpose, pushing her buttons just to see how far she’d bend. Testing her limits.

“You don’t need to worry,” Natalie said, her voice now glacial. “There won’t be another ‘Daddy.’ You already have one. That’s more than enough.”

Platon’s face twisted in pain.

“Do I?” he said with a bitter laugh. “Where is this supposed father of mine?”

Instant regret. Natalie immediately wished she could take it back. She hadn’t meant to hurt him—hadn’t planned to strike that nerve—but she did. 

And the worst part? She, too, knew exactly how to land the blow.

It was… ugly. Petty. Unworthy of a mother. Unworthy of a psychologist—even an uncertified one.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently after a pause. All her anger had drained away, washed out by guilt. “If you want, I could try talking to him again… to Pavel.”

But what would be the point? Pavel had never seen Platon’s birth as anything significant. Bringing it up with him—again—was like throwing pearls before swine.

Platon seemed to think the same.

“Don’t bother,” he said sharply, shaking his head. His dark eyes—framed by lashes most women would kill for—flared with fury. “I don’t give a damn about him. Or you. I don’t need anyone.”

He practically yelled those last words. Which is exactly why Natalie didn’t believe them.

That wasn’t indifference talking. Not even hatred. That was pain—raw and bleeding.

“Alright,” she said quietly. “Got it.”

She worked hard to keep her voice steady, to hide how deeply his words had cut. They didn’t make her angry… just sad. Like a scratch on the soul—small, but sharp. And it stung.

“Hey, someone’s messaging me,” Platon said abruptly. “I need to respond. Let’s pause this—maybe catch up some other time.”

Natalie gave a solemn nod, unconvinced by his sudden “urgent” distraction. But maybe it was for the best. They’d already said too much. Maybe next time, they’d manage a little less damage. Maybe even find their way back to something better.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Then… have a good evening. Talk soon.”

Platon mumbled something inaudible and hung up, leaving her alone…

…in silence so deep, so sharp—it almost echoed.

* * *

Natalie rarely felt lonely… On the contrary, she cherished moments of solitude. But on certain evenings, even she would feel abandoned, afraid to be left one-on-one with her own thoughts.

Tonight was exactly that kind of evening. Then again, what was there to be surprised about? Conversations with Platon almost always left her in a gloomy state—and today’s talk had been no exception.

Why was that? Why did their communication so often end in conflict and misunderstanding? Why couldn’t they find common ground? They weren’t just relatives. She gave him life… Sure, he hadn’t asked for that gift—but he didn’t seem to regret it either. So didn’t she deserve at least a hint of gratitude?

“A shoemaker without shoes,” Natalie muttered bitterly, taking a sip of wine. It was her second glass that evening—a luxury she allowed herself only on the loneliest of days.

Maybe Platon was right, and she was a talentless psychologist, a fake professional. What good were her consultations, her advice… had she even helped anyone?

Usually, Natalie answered that question with confidence, truly believing she made a difference for her clients. But tonight… tonight everything seemed dark, and her own life—both professional and personal—felt empty, pointless, meaningless. No one would shed a tear if she suddenly disappeared.

Her phone chimed—an incoming message.

“Platon?” she thought hopefully, reaching for it.

No. Not Platon. Yevhen.  "Got a minute? Can I call? P.S. Already miss you... Kisses."

Natalie smiled softly, her body instinctively relaxing. Perfect timing. Just what the doctor ordered.

"Of course, call me. I’d love to hear your voice!" she quickly replied.

He called almost immediately.

“Hey,” he said, his voice upbeat and warm. “How are you?”

“Well… not great,” she admitted honestly—she didn’t have the strength or desire to pretend. “So your call is very welcome… perfect timing.”

“Nice to be perfect at something,” Yevhen chuckled. “What’s going on? What's happened?”

She laughed too—though a bit strained.

“Nothing major. Just small things… that sometimes ruin our mood.”

No point dragging him into her complicated family drama.

“I get it,” he said gently, trying to sound empathetic. “We all have rough days… even wonderful women like you.”

“Flatterer,” Natalie smirked. Still, the simple compliment was pleasant. Comforting, even.

“It’s not flattery!” Yevhen protested. And he was so passionate she almost believed him. “I genuinely think you’re amazing. You’re not just beautiful, smart, sexy… You’re also a top-tier professional. You solved my issue in one session!”

Natalie gave a bitter little smile and shook her head. Yeah… top-tier professional…

“Well, I guess sex turned out to be an effective therapy,” she said with mock nonchalance—though her voice betrayed her; it trembled.

“What does sex have to do with it?!” he objected, clearly indignant. Natalie could just picture him frowning. “Although, um, that part was... highly stimulating… but I wasn’t talking about our date. I meant the session. The actual consultation.”

“Really? You’re serious?” she asked quietly. She knew how pathetic she sounded, practically fishing for reassurance… but she couldn’t help it. She needed to hear it—to believe her work meant something, that it mattered.

And Yevhen—credit where credit’s due—gave her exactly what she needed:

“Of course I’m serious,” he said firmly. “After our session, I did a lot of thinking… I realized how narrow my mindset was, even though I thought I was creative. It’s time to expand my horizons… in every sense.”

His words were a balm for the soul, a kind of medicine… albeit with a bitter aftertaste. Because Natalie knew—deep down—that Yevhen’s plans to “expand his horizons” likely involved more than just work. He was already thinking about new women, new adventures. Even if they hadn’t officially parted ways yet—his thoughts were clearly moving on.

Well. She knew what she was getting into. It was foolish to complain now… or hope for anything more serious with a guy his age.

“I’m glad if my advice helped,” she said after a pause, trying to sound upbeat and convincing. God forbid Yevhen pick up on what she was really feeling. No, let him think this was all casual for her… or close enough.

“It helped a lot,” he said enthusiastically. “But that’s not the only reason I called.”

“Oh? Then why?”

“Well, first of all—I missed you,” he reminded her. “And second…I'm leaving for Ukraine soon.”

Natalie sighed quietly. Yeah… she’d expected this.

“I remember,” she said softly. “So… I take it this is your goodbye call?”

“Who says goodbye over the phone?!” Yevhen objected. “No way. You deserve a proper farewell dinner!”

“I agree,” Natalie laughed, barely hiding her relief. Damn it, she really liked him. Too much. She was genuinely falling for him… which could only end badly.

Although—why badly? Maybe their fling would be short-lived, sure… But it’ll live on in her memory. And Yevhen… he’d stay there too. In her memories. And those memories would keep her warm on cold days.

“Then it’s a date,” Yevhen said in a more business-like tone. “I’m inviting you. Are you free tomorrow evening?”

“For you? Yes,” Natalie replied, her voice playful. She was secretly glad he couldn’t see her smile… a little too happy for what was supposed to be a meaningless fling.

They said goodbye, and Natalie was alone again… But this time, she didn’t FEEL alone. She wasn’t lonely… after all, she had Yevhen.

Funny how one conversation can sink you into depression—and another lift you right out of it. The cruel irony: her mood had been ruined by her own son… and restored by a casual lover, one far too young for her.

Whatever. Perhaps, their relationship had no future. But then again—what does? The future doesn’t exist. Only the present does.

And in the present, right here and now, there was Yevhen… and the anticipation of a romantic dinner. And that, she decided, was all that mattered.