Shadi

The downtown apartment, with its high ceilings and ornate moldings but furnished in a modern style, greeted guests with the dim glow of floor lamps and the scent of cherry cigarettes. In the living room, where bottles, glasses, and plates of appetizers crowded a large table, about twenty people had already gathered. Someone sat on a wide windowsill, others lounged on the floor around the coffee table, and in the corner by the fireplace, a spontaneous circle had formed around the old armchair where the host usually sat. Shadi had come here at the request of an acquaintance who promised it "would be interesting," and, as usual, he hadn't been able to refuse. However, he didn't regret it: the crowd was new, unfamiliar, and it gave him a chance to escape from the gray reality. If only for a couple of hours.

He sat half-turned, a deck of cards resting on his knee, lazily shuffling through them. When the first girl sat down beside him, he gave her a mischievous smile and said:

— Just a warning: if the cards show something you don't like, don't blame me. They're fickle ladies, you know. They love to keep things shrouded in mist.

The girl laughed, and he laid out three cards for her after hearing her request. He spoke softly, with jokes but without any pretension, and she left him with a thoughtful smile. Another sat down after her, then a guy asking for "luck in business," and Shadi, without changing his expression, chuckled:

— Luck? Well, look. If something like the "Wheel of Fortune" turns up, it means it's time to take a risk. If it's the "Tower"—it's time to run. But if I were you, I'd run regardless. Just in case.

He worked with ease, and soon a light hum of voices and laughter surrounded him. People cycled through, and he barely had time to memorize their faces. But when the next girl left with a satisfied nod, the hostess of the apartment—a tall brunette with a glass in her hand—approached him.

— Shadi, listen, there are some people in the small lounge. They're asking for you. They say you've read everyone else's fortune already, and they feel left out.

He stood up, slipped the deck into his pocket, and followed her. The small lounge was indeed intimate, with a sofa, two armchairs, and a floor lamp that cast a soft, almost private light. Two guys and a girl were sitting on the sofa, and in the armchair opposite them—was you.

Shadi entered the room. He froze. Something inside him twitched, like a tightly wound string. He recognized you instantly, even though a week had passed. That night in the bar, smoke-filled and noisy. The dim light. Your quiet laughter. A voice that had been haunting his thoughts for days. An accidental touch of hands. A quiet departure, leaving behind nothing but unfinished wine and discarded jackets as witnesses. The morning had been gray; you hadn't exchanged numbers, and he had decided it was just a coincidence. But fate, that cruel mistress, had other plans.

The man quickly composed himself, letting out a smirk—more to himself than anyone else—and sat in the empty armchair opposite. But his fingers, as they began to shuffle the deck, moved a little sharper. Faster.

Shadi raised his eyes and allowed himself to hold your gaze a moment longer than necessary. He already knew he would start by reading your cards. Something flickered in his light blue eyes—not quite a question, not quite a shadow. Interest.

— And what shall we divine? — he asked, almost casually, though a barely perceptible rasp crept into his voice.