Chapter 3

  It had been three days since the meeting with Mr. Popov. Today, Christin was scheduled to meet Mr. Ivanov at the restaurant: Where the Samovar Still Glows.

  Once a place that required reservations weeks in advance, its fame had slowly begun to fade. This place held deep significance in Christin’s life. He had worked here part-time when he was sixteen, and it had always supported him—especially the owner.

  The owner—now in his late sixties—still kept Christin’s old ads on the wall.

  One of the restaurant’s specialties was its private dining rooms—spaces booked in advance and prepared according to the occasion. Christin had reserved one for his meeting with Mr. Ivanov.

  He arrived fifteen minutes early and was discreetly led to the room by the owner himself, which eased his anxiety. Sitting at the table, Christin slowly sipped cold water, trying to steady himself. He realized his hands were trembling and forced himself to breathe, determined to appear composed and professional.

  A soft knock echoed against the door.

  “Yes?” he asked quietly, taking a deep breath.

  “My son, your guest has arrived. I’ll bring him in,” the owner replied.

  The door opened, and a tall young man stepped inside.

  Christin stood.

  Austin Ivanov looked just as striking in person as he did on screen, his intense presence unmistakable. As Austin approached, Christin began to sweat again. The trembling hadn’t subsided. Panic crept in, and he instinctively took a step back.

  Austin noticed immediately.

  He stopped and stepped back as well, maintaining distance. Reading the signs of distress, he waited silently, giving Christin time to steady himself.

  Since a handshake clearly wasn’t possible, Austin lifted his hand in an awkward wave. Christin struggled to shake the overwhelming thought of being alone in a room with a stranger. His breath hitched, words catching in his throat.

  The owner had already left.

  They were alone.

  The last time Christin had been alone with a stranger was in a restroom—a man slightly drunk, his intentions dangerous. Christin had barely escaped a sexual assault.

  The memory sent his heart racing.

  Austin stepped back even further. He scanned the room, thinking quickly. Maybe I’m the problem, he thought.

  He reached for the door and opened it. The hallway outside was empty.

  “Christin,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

  He waved lightly to regain Christin’s attention, then stepped outside the room.

  “I can leave if you want,” Austin said calmly. “We can do this another day. Take your time. If you’d prefer, I can stay outside and close the door. Whatever makes you feel safe.”

  Hearing that, Christin’s breathing slowly began to steady.

  That day in the restroom, he reminded himself, I broke his arm and shoulder. I’m not weak anymore. I can protect myself.

  He took a deep breath, drank the rest of the cold water, and slowly sat down.

  After another long breath, he nodded. “You can come in.”

  “You see how bad it is,” Christin said quietly. “How are we supposed to film a movie like this?”

  Austin re-entered slowly, deliberately keeping his distance.

  “But you calmed yourself down,” he said. “I saw it happen. You have the ability to overcome your fear. You’re stronger than it—and that’s what I wanted to see today, Mr. Vasiliev”. His tone was measured—corporate, controlled.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He remained about three meters away.

  “Thank you,” Christin said softly. “You can sit. I think I’ll be okay.”

  He gestured toward the chair. Though he still stuttered slightly, the trembling had stopped.

  Austin sat down carefully, still processing what had just occurred.

  “Le-let’s start again,” Christin said, trying to steady his voice. “I’m Christin Vasiliev. Nice to meet you.”

  “Yes,” Austin replied with a faint smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Austin Ivanov—your prospective co-worker.”

  “Prospective…?”

  “I was informed that you’re still deciding whether you want to take on this project,” Austin explained. “That’s what Mr. Popov told me. Am I wrong?”

  “No—no, you’re right,” Christin admitted. “I’m still trying to figure out how this could work.”

  “I understand,” Austin said. “It may feel rushed. From my perspective, this is my first opportunity to play a lead role. I decided to become a producer because I read the storyboard and truly believe in the project’s potential.”

  He paused, then added, “I encourage you to try—not because it’s easy, but because ‘I tried’ sits better with you than ‘I regret it’ or ‘I should have.’”

  Christin lowered his gaze, staring into his glass of water.

  While he thought, Austin studied Christin quietly. Strong yet delicate—like a rose surrounded by thorns. Perhaps those thorns were the hardships Christin had endured. And perhaps they were still piercing him.

  “I finally get to meet you in person, Mr. Vasiliev,” Austin said gently, trying to ease the mood. “My mother and little sister are huge fans of yours.”

  “You have a little sister?” Christin asked, recognizing the effort. “How old is she?”

  “Fourteen. Still a brat,” Austin chuckled. “She’s ten years younger than me. What about you?”

  “I’m an only child,” Christin replied. “But I lived with my aunt and her four daughters for a while, so I understand what it’s like to have sisters.”

  “Cool.”

  A server interrupted them. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Shall we bring the appetizers? And would you like to decide on the main course?”

  They exchanged a brief glance, realizing they hadn’t ordered yet. Together, they turned to the menu.

  As they ate their main course, savouring the flavours and aroma, Christin glanced at Austin.

  “What do you think of the food here?” he asked.

  “It’s good,” Austin replied while eating. He looked up—and for just a brief moment, their eyes met.

  Austin quickly looked away, unsure why he felt the need to avert his gaze. It wasn’t as if he had been stealing glances. He took a sip of water before continuing.

  “I’ve always wanted to come back here. I came once with my family to celebrate my sister’s eighth birthday. When I was told I’d be meeting you here, it felt nostalgic.”

  “I see,” Christin said thoughtfully. “That would’ve been about…”

  “Seven years ago,” Austin finished. “She’ll be turning fifteen soon.”

  “Right.” Christin nodded, then added, “I should also tell you—I’m still in third year of my bachelor’s degree. I have about a year and a half left before graduation. I can’t delay my studies, so I’ll need breaks for exams, assignments, and projects.”

  Surprisingly, Christin noticed that he was only mildly alert to his surroundings now. His speech was steady—no stuttering.

  “Sure,” Austin said easily. “What are you studying?”

  “Business Administration and Management.”

  Austin’s eyes lit up slightly. “I completed my bachelor’s in the same field about three years ago. If the curriculum hasn’t changed much, I could help you with your studies.”

  Christin froze, food halfway to his mouth.

  His co-worker had studied the same subject—and was casually offering to tutor him.

  “Oh—it’s completely fine if you don’t want help,” Austin added quickly. “I’m used to helping my sister with her studies, so it just came naturally. Not to brag, but I never hated studying. I actually enjoyed it.”

  He finished his main course calmly.

  “But what I meant to ask is—won’t this delay the filming?” Christin said after a moment. “Are you okay with that? Wouldn’t it be difficult for you?”

  “Well,” Austin replied thoughtfully, “it might be slightly less profitable financially. But if spending money helps someone change their life, I don’t mind at all. Take your time. Don’t worry about production costs.”

  Christin realized something then—he felt comfortable. For the first time in a long while, he was having a conversation with someone outside his family or Andrei. There was a subtle excitement in his voice now, a gentle curve to his lips.

  Austin noticed it.

  That smile.

  Seeing that soft smile after the stuttering, the sweating, the trembling—it felt quietly rewarding.

  “Would you care for some dessert?” Austin asked. “Mr. Popov gave me a little hint that you like sweets.”

  Christin was momentarily taken aback by Austin’s smile—it was gentler than before. Maybe he isn’t as stoic and intense as people describe, Christin thought. Maybe there’s more to him.

  He smiled back.

  “Chocolate ice cream, please.”

  Austin called for the server and ordered chocolate ice cream for Christin—and dark chocolate ice cream for himself.

  The meeting ended on a fine note.

  Later, Christin sat in his car in the restaurant’s parking lot, still bewildered. He had overcome his fear—and shared a meal with a stranger. The realization settled slowly, then firmly.

  He made his decision.

  Reaching for his phone, he dialled a number he never thought he would.

  “Hello, Mr. Popov. This is Christin,” he said. “I would like to accept your offer. I’m ready to work with Mr. Ivanov.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Vasiliev!” Alik replied enthusiastically. “I truly hope this becomes your most memorable project and experience. Thank you once again! I must share this news with my storywriter, editor—oh, I need to call so many people!”

  Christin smiled faintly as he ended the call.

  Just as he was about to start the car, another thought struck him.

  “Oh shoot… I forgot to call that nagging machine at home.”

  He dialled Andrei’s number and shared the news.

  As he sat there, one thought lingered: maybe it could work… if it was with him.