The restaurant hadn't changed.
That was the first thing Artem noticed.
Same narrow entrance. Same low hum of conversation. Same smell—warm, familiar, immediate. Rice, spices, something slow-cooked and steady.
For a moment, standing just inside the door, it felt like stepping into something that had been waiting.
"Ah," the owner said, spotting them almost instantly. "My favorite clients."
Artem smiled.
It came easier now.
"You always say that," Iyan replied.
"And every time it's true," the owner said, already guiding them toward their usual table. "You come, you eat like family, and you leave nothing behind. What more could I want?"
They sat.
The table felt the same.
Or maybe it was just that Artem did.
Plates arrived without needing to be ordered.
Plov. Bread. Tea.
Routine.
Comfort.
A waiter approached with the last dish, setting it down carefully.
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
Like he was deciding whether to say something.
"Sorry," he said, lowering his voice slightly. "I just have to ask..."
A small, uncertain smile.
"...are you the guys who kissed in the middle of Red Square?"
Artem and Iyan both looked up at the same time.
A beat.
Then—
"Yes," they said.
In unison.
The waiter blinked once—then let out a short breath, half-laugh, half disbelief.
"So that means..." he said, leaning in just slightly, "you're banned for how long?"
Another beat.
"For life," they said together.
The waiter shook his head, smiling now.
"Worth it?"
A pause.
"Yes," Artem said.
The waiter moved on, still smiling.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Not empty.
Just... full.
"You got the Green Card notice?" Iyan asked finally.
Artem nodded.
"Yeah."
A beat.
"Permanent."
He said it simply.
But it settled differently.
Iyan watched him for a moment.
Then:
"How does it feel?"
Artem considered the question.
Not immediately answering.
"Strange," he said.
A small exhale followed.
"Like... I'm allowed to stay somewhere."
Iyan nodded once.
Artem looked down at his hands.
Then back up.
"I used to think I didn't belong here," he said.
A pause.
"Turns out I just hadn't been anywhere I was allowed to."
Iyan didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
The restaurant moved around them—voices, dishes, the quiet rhythm of people existing without urgency.
Then—
The bell above the door rang.
It was a small sound.
Easy to ignore.
Iyan didn't.
His eyes lifted.
Toward the entrance.
Artem noticed.
"What?" he asked.
Iyan didn't answer.
Artem turned.
And everything stopped.
For a second, nothing made sense.
Not the room.
Not the voices.
Not the movement around him.
She stood there.
Smaller than he remembered.
But unmistakable.
"Artem," she said.
That was all it took.
He was already moving.
The chair scraped loudly behind him, but he didn't hear it.
Didn't see anything else.
He reached her and pulled her into him—tight, immediate, as if he let go, she might disappear again.
"I thought I'd never see you again," he said, the words breaking as they came. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry that I left you."
She held him just as tightly.
One hand at the back of his head, the other steady against his shoulder.
"You did what you had to do," she said quietly. "You lived."
Artem shook his head against her, breath uneven now, shoulders trembling as everything he had held in finally gave way.
Around them, the restaurant shifted.
Not silent.
But softer.
A waiter nearby paused mid-step, tray still in hand.
Another turned slightly away, blinking too quickly.
Voices lowered without anyone asking them to.
No one interrupted.
Iyan stood a few steps back.
Watching.
He hadn't told Artem.
Hadn't said anything.
Some things worked better that way.
Magda pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders.
"You look tired," she said.
Artem let out a short, unsteady laugh.
"I'm okay," he said.
She studied him for a moment.
Then nodded.
"I know."
She turned slightly.
Her eyes met Iyan's.
Recognition.
Understanding.
Gratitude.
She didn't say it out loud.
She didn't need to.
Iyan inclined his head once.
That was enough.
They sat together after that.
Not rushing.
Not filling the space with unnecessary words.
Just being there.
Outside, the city moved as it always did.
Unaware.
Unchanged.
Inside, something had settled.
Not fixed.
Not undone.
But... held.
And for the first time in a long time—
nothing felt like it was about to be taken away.