— You want to ask me for something?

— Yes. Please, make it so they let me go.

— You’re free.

— Just like that?

— Yes.

— And nothing’s holding me anymore?

— No.

— Thank you.

 

She hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and ran up the stairs with quick, light steps, afraid to step on the hem of her gorgeous evening dress and holding it with both hands.

Her companion finally exhaled, helped her into the limousine, and shut the door.

A few seconds later, the sound of the tires faded into the noise of the shining city.

 

He watched her go.

How little it takes to make someone happy.

All he did was tell her what she already had — nothing more.

 

Would it make her happier? No one knows. Not even her.

 

What is freedom?

For each of us, it’s something different.

Sometimes we think someone keeps us chained,

but more often, we are the ones who forged the shackles —

with our fears, our ignorance of ourselves, our feelings, and desires.

 

And now, in her “let me go,”

he saw only her fear, her uncertainty, her refusal to act.

 

She wanted to leave — but wanted it to look like she’d been released,

with all her things neatly packed,

the keys to her apartment returned,

and a bank card from a solid account.

 

That’s how she imagined it.

 

“Oh no, I don’t need any of that!” she’d say.

But he knew perfectly well that this was exactly what she wanted —

just without looking cynical or materialistic in the moment of parting.

 

She needed to cast the “ex” as a tyrant and abuser,

so that someone else — the one — would appear,

offer his shoulder,

and drive her away from her golden cage.

 

And let the first one suffer,

let everyone see what kind of man he was.

 

Nonsense, of course — from the point of view of ordinary life.

But it’s her choice.

He only fulfills her requests.

 

The rest is up to her.

And what will she do?

We’ll see.

 

— Guess we’ll meet again…