Waiting to Meet Again
September was warm, dry, and bright. The low autumn sun glared fiercely, especially in the evening. Roman flipped down the sun visor—being tall, it shielded him, but Dasha…
How many times had he told her to leave the car at home? He’d drive her to work, pick her up later. But their schedules never quite aligned.
*”It’s sweet you worry,”* she’d say, nestling against him. *”But I drive carefully—you’ve seen me. I need the car.”*
*”Fine, just promise to wear sunglasses. Rain’s coming next week, and wet roads are just as dangerous as this blinding sun.”*
*”You’re so protective. It’ll be fine. Promise,”* she’d swear solemnly.
Roman parked outside their building, glancing instinctively at their third-floor flat. Sunlight glared off the windows—were the blinds up? If they weren’t, the flat would be stifling, the heat unbearable.
Dasha’s car wasn’t there. Strange—no call, no text. She usually finished an hour before him, dinner ready when he got home. He pocketed his phone, locked the car, and headed inside.
***
They’d met a year and a half ago. Roman had spotted her stranded on the roadside, a slight figure beside an open car door—a flat tyre. He’d stopped to help.
Dasha lived in a rented flat then—petite, stubbornly independent. With her, he felt strong, protective. She bristled at it, insisting she didn’t need coddling. Eventually, he’d asked her to move in. Why pay rent when she was always at his place?
His bachelor flat had transformed under her touch. Throws, cushions, warm lamps—suddenly it was a home. The air smelled of baking, stews, vanilla.
Then she’d brought home the puppy—filthy, shivering under a bush in the rain.
*”Dasha, why?”* he’d groaned. *”It’s covered in mud, probably fleas. It’ll ruin everything.”* He’d never liked pets.
*”Look at him,”* she’d pleaded, cradling the trembling creature. *”He’ll die out there. I’ll wash him, take him to the vet tomorrow. I’ll clean up after him.”*
*”Leave him at the clinic,”* Roman had said, but her sharp look told him: push further, and she’d walk out with the dog. So he’d relented.
Dasha named him Rex—fitting, somehow. The scrawny pup grew into a sturdy, red-coated mutt with retriever in his blood. Roman played with him, but Rex adored Dasha, ignoring Roman’s commands, trailing her like a shadow. It stung, just a little.
Life settled into a comfortable rhythm. Even Rex grew on him. Children could wait—they were happy as they were.
***
Outside the flat, Roman heard Rex whining. The moment the door opened, the dog bolted past him toward the stairs.
*”Slow down,”* Roman muttered, locking up.
But Rex was frantic, darting ahead, stopping to check Roman followed. Unease prickled Roman’s neck—Rex only rushed like this for Dasha.
They raced through the park, past rows of houses. Roman’s lungs burned. Ahead, Rex’s barks sharpened. He sprinted harder, swearing at the dog’s boundless energy.
Then he saw it—glass shards littering the road. Rex sniffed the asphalt, whining, then barked hoarsely.
A boy by a fence shrugged. *”Crash. Saw the ambulance leave… then a tow truck.”*
*”What colour was the car?”*
*”Red, I think.”*
Roman’s hands shook dialling the hospital.
*”No good news,”* the doctor said wearily. *”Died en route.”*
His heart stalled. *A mistake. Not her. Call her—*
*”Can I see her?”*
*”Nothing to see. Face is… bad.”*
*”What if it’s not her?”*
*”Her ID was found.”*
The morgue’s fluorescent lights buzzed. Roman’s legs gave way when he saw her—small, broken. He collapsed against the wall, howling.
*”No chance,”* the doctor murmured. *”Sun blinded the other driver… she came around the bend—”*
Roman didn’t remember driving home. Only then did he recall Rex. He drove back—the dog lay by the roadside, lifting his head weakly.
*”Rex. Home.”*
No reaction.
*”Dasha’s waiting,”* Roman lied.
The dog followed, hesitating, glancing back. At home, Rex paced, sniffing, whining. That night, he howled by the door until the neighbour banged on the wall.
*”See? They’re complaining. Mourn quietly—like me.”*
Rex nosed his knee.
*”You get it, don’t you? Want to leave? Go ahead.”* He yanked the door open.
Days blurred. He drank, slept fitfully. Rex vanished after the funeral, returning gaunt and dirty. Roman fed him, but by morning, the dog was scratching to leave.
*”Run, then.”*
The flat echoed with Dasha’s absence. He hurled cushions, her books—nothing helped.
*Why didn’t I stop her driving? Why didn’t I propose?*
One night, he woke to phantom clicks of claws on laminate—Dasha turning in bed. He wandered out, drawn to the crash site.
Rex lay there, ribs sharp under matted fur. Roman stretched beside him on the damp grass, waking stiff and numb at dawn. The dog’s chest no longer rose.
*”Lucky you,”* Roman whispered.
He buried Rex under the bushes, smeared with dirt and tears. Back home, vodka burned his throat. His reflection—hollow-eyed, filthy—was unrecognizable.
Days later, he wandered to a near-empty pet market. A boy clutched a shivering pup.
*”Buy him, mister. Cheap.”*
*”How much?”*
The boy hesitated. *”Never mind. You don’t want him.”*
*”I do,”* Roman said, the truth hitting him. *”I really do.”*
The boy eyed him, then relented. *”His name’s Rex.”*
Roman stiffened but didn’t turn.
At home, the pup piddled on the floor. Roman laughed wetly.
*”Shameless. Your predecessor never did that.”*
They slept curled on the sofa. The old Rex’s barks never haunted him again. But Dasha did—smiling in his dreams. He chased sleep, willing the days to pass faster, just to see her again.
