To judge from the little briefcase in her hand and the stern, businesslike expression on her face, Vika was already studying somewhere.
“Well, how’s life?” I ask in a perfectly friendly fashion, emphasising that I have no grudges or old scores to settle.
“Fine, thank you.” her tone of voice is restrained and dignified.
“Why didn’t you bother to say goodbye?”
I’m still speaking lightly and ironically: well, perhaps still just a little sadly, just the tiniest little bit, like some benevolent old teacher who has long ago grown accustomed to his pupils’ pranks — he isn’t even really upset when one of them copies during a test. Since she doesn’t answer, I continue:
“After all, it wouldn’t have taken much. Elementary politeness. Just a note: ‘Goodbye, forgive me, I love someone else.’ That’
