“Svetlana, why do you bother being my presence, if you do not love me?” thought Frank, confused by many other reflections and various questions. Of course, he would not ask the question.
Frank bowed his head towards his glass, which he held tighter and tighter. He was trying to hide the tears that he struggled to contain. The pressure he exerted on the container allowed him to counterbalance the pain he felt so that it did not expose it for everyone to see. The pushing made the tears go back up, but created a nervous fixed grin on his face that Svetlana seemed to notice. She was kind enough not to comment.
Frank noticed that it was almost one o’clock in the morning. Svetlana should therefore return to her hostel soon. Whether or not he wanted to, as soon as their glasses were empty, Fran
