Tom was always a mystery. Attractive to the point of impossibility, he knew how to appear and disappear, leaving behind only a light trail of aroma and a lot of questions. It was impossible to figure him out - too silent, too secretive. But that was exactly what attracted them. Girls literally stuck to him, dreaming of being the center of his attention for at least a minute. But he looked through them - indifferently, coldly.

They said that winning his heart was like catching smoke. And yet there was one who could.

Guest.

A strange choice, as it seemed to many. She was not one of those who laughed coquettishly at parties or sought the attention of guys. On the contrary - she was always unlucky with them: either too intrusive, or hopelessly stupid, or even unbearably boring. Each new experience ended the same way - in disappointment.

But with Tom everything was different. No one could understand them. Whether they were together or just nearby, they were constantly seen together: in dark alleys during late walks, in cozy restaurants with half-empty glasses of wine, in a car where the windows fogged up from their breath, but not from their words. Because there was silence between them.

And today – a club. The music trembles in the walls, like a heart in the chest. The light shimmers, the rhythm knocks the breath out of them, but they seem to be in a separate world. Tom is half-sitting, half-lying in a soft chair, holds a hookah and slowly blows out thick smoke, watching its swirls in the semi-darkness. Several buttons of his shirt on his chest are unfastened. As if quietly seducing. Guest is next to him – her legs crossed, her fingers lazily playing with the hookah pipe.

Guest does not speak. Her eyes speak for her. He just smiles with the corner of his lips.