The Man Who Listened or the Nobody Men

– But isn’t it… hard? To constantly listen to other people’s pain?

Alexander’s fingers tightened slightly, as if something sharp stirred inside him.

– Sometimes – very hard.

He slowly turned his head toward Artem.

– But there are people for whom this isn’t a choice. It’s a… way of being in the world.

A barely perceptible smile.

– If they stop listening, something important goes deaf around them.

The words were simple. But behind them lay a sense that he wasn’t only talking about people – but about some kind of «balance» that almost no one notices.

Suddenly, Artem realized: He knows nothing about this man.

And the longer he looked, the stronger he felt it: Alexander was not just anyone.

Not a «guru». Not a «psychologist». Not a «coach».

As if he was here… not for the first time. Not in this park – but in this «place», between someone else’s pain and the possibility of living through it.

For a second, an illogical but sticky thought crossed Artem’s mind:

– What if he’s not just a person?

The thought immediately felt absurd. But at that moment, the lamp flickered slightly – and Artem involuntarily flinched.

Alexander noticed. And as if answering what remained unspoken, he said:

– I’m just as human as you are.

He held a pause.

– It’s just that once, I had to hear myself… too deeply. And there was no turning back.

Wind stirred the branches above the bench.

And for the first time that night, the air smelled not of dampness, but of something… clean. Like after a storm – but without rain.

Alexander gently rubbed the cover of his diary, as if closing not a page of conversation – but some inner circle.

– That’s enough for today.

He stood up.

– Your story hasn’t ended. It’s only just begun to be heard.

He took a step – and something strange happened: It wasn’t he who left the circle of light, but the light itself seemed to «release» him.

Part 7. The Trace That Shouldn’t Have Remained

Alexander took several steps toward the edge of the square – calmly, without haste. Like someone who knows: if a conversation has happened, it ends exactly where it was meant to.

Artem didn’t follow. He sat motionless, as if afraid that if he stood up, something fragile – something that had only just emerged inside him – would dissolve.

– Hey… – he called softly, not even sure why.

Alexander stopped, but didn’t turn around.

– Will we see each other again?

There was a moment when an easy answer could have been given – «Of course», «If you want to», «Just text me».

Alexander chose differently. He chose the one that offered no guarantees, but left the choice to the other person.

– If you come – I’ll be there.

He said it not as a promise, but as a rule of a world where people meet by inner calling, not by schedule.

Alexander walked into the darkness of the alley. The lamp’s light, as if respecting a boundary, didn’t follow him.

Artem remained sitting.

For several minutes, he simply breathed – for the first time in a long while, without a lump in his throat.

And then… he noticed.

On the bench where Alexander had sat, there was a faint trace of warmth. Not just an imprint – it was as if the wood had retained a pulse. Artem carefully ran his fingers over it – the warmth was real. Alive. Too strong for a cold October night.

He pulled his hand back, his heart thudding sharply against his ribs.

– This can’t be real.

He looked around – maybe someone had turned on a heater, or the lamp had warmed the wood? But no: nearby, everything was cold, damp, with the metallic tang of wind.

Yet the spot where Alexander had sat… held warmth as if he’d been there for hours – though only about twenty minutes had passed.

Artem touched the surface again – and this time, he felt not only warmth, but a strange, barely perceptible vibration, like an echo of a human heartbeat. A rhythm. Too steady to be coincidence.

He withdrew his hand and, not knowing why, whispered:

– Who are you?..

At that moment, something fell softly above them. A leaf.

Just one.

From a tree that had been perfectly still a second before.

The leaf landed at his feet – yellow with a faint silvery sheen, as if moonlight had lingered in its veins.

Artem picked it up – and noticed a thin line on one of the veins, resembling a symbol of a heart broken in half but «stitched» back together.

He blinked. Looked closer. The symbol was gone – just a regular leaf, nothing special.

Artem exhaled, running his fingers over his temple.

– Just my imagination…

But something inside him had already changed.

Not in the sense of «magic!»

But in the sense of «This matters. Even if I don’t understand why».

He stood up and looked back at the circle of lamp light, as if trying to memorize its shape.

And for the first time in many months, he walked away not into emptiness – but with a step that had direction.

Artem didn’t go home.

Home was an apartment where, in the kitchen, her mug still sat with the inscription «Coffee is my joy», where the closet smelled of her perfume – which he’d never thrown out because… because then she would truly be gone.

He wandered along the embankment. Not thinking. Just walking.

There were no thoughts in his head – only echoes:

«You don’t hear me».

«Come with a question».

All his life, he had learned to do things right:

– At school: good grades.

– At university: internships.

– In relationships: flowers, with or without reason.

– At work: bonuses, raises, «well done» from the boss.

But no one had ever asked:

«How are you – really?»

And now – for the first time – someone had asked not about his actions, but about what was inside.

And he didn’t know the answer.

He stopped by a bridge. Looked into the water. Neon lights reflected there – turquoise, pink, white. As if the city, too, was crying – but beautifully.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to fix himself. He simply… allowed himself to be lost.

Part 8. Those Who Know How to Listen to Silence

The night in the city is rarely ever truly solitary.

There’s always someone who sees what others overlook.

On the opposite side of the square, in the shadow of a chestnut tree, a man had been standing for several minutes. He was nearly impossible to notice – he seemed to dissolve into the half-light, as if he knew precisely at what angle the lamp post’s glow would not reach him.

He watched the bench as if it were a stage where a play unfolded – a play whose meaning concerned only the chosen few.

First, he observed Artem arriving. Then, he watched him speak.

But most intently, he watched Alexander leave.

When Alexander vanished into the darkness of the alley, the man in the shadows narrowed his eyes.

Not in surprise. More like… reading the scene.

He took a couple of steps forward – but did not cross the boundary of the light.

As if he knew: should he step in, something would be disturbed.

The phone in his coat pocket began to vibrate.

He glanced at the screen. A message from a contact labeled with just two letters:

D.S.:

«Is he back in place? Confirmed. Interest is rising. Proceed as planned?»

The man stared at the message for a long moment before replying.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, as if he wasn’t hesitating over what to write, but whether he should reply at all.

Finally, he typed:

«Observing for now. He’s changed. This might be… not what you thought».

The message sent. The reply came almost instantly:

D.S.:

«I don’t care how he’s changed. I care how he will begin to interfere».

The figure by the tree gripped the phone slightly tighter than necessary.

Only when the square fell silent again did the man allow himself to step closer – just to the edge of the light, never crossing it.