The Shadow of Chernobyl

The Fruit of Labor

"Good morning, Mr. Morozov!"

"Morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, didn't have any dreams though."

"Nothing of concern, good, good. Was breakfast satisfactory? I heard they got real milk for the pancakes this time!"

"Uh, yeah. It was good, I guess," I averted my gaze, rubbing the thin hairs on my arm.

"Guess? Not enough sugar?"

"No. Personally, I could've done with some syrup, but... maybe it's just me," despite the countless meetings we had, I could never get over one thing in particular.

"Ah, okay then..." no, don't you go quiet on me, now it'll feel even more awkward!

"H-hey, isn't today the day?"

"Yup. Today is the day," the owl displayed a thin smile, her eyes softening, "You've gone a long way since we first met, Alexei."

"Hmm, you could say that," I crossed my arms, rubbing the sleep from my right eye followed by the left.

"Do you remember when you first arrived here? So small and fragile... but look at you now!" She spread her wings, her beak gaining a sharp glint, oh, the humanity.

"A-aha, that was an... interesting night..."

After a moment of silence, she sighed, the joyful facade faltering, "Why the uncertainty, Alek? Is there something wrong?"

"N-no! Of course not!" I forced a smile, sweat accumulating in my palms, "What makes you say that?"

She squinted, a curious look, "You're stuttering, you're fidgeting, you're sweating bullets, but you're not lying, so that's good!"

I sighed myself, suppressing a cough with my left hand, "Was it that obvious?"

"Read like an open book."

"You're a psychiatrist, you're not playing fair."

"Fair?" She chuckled, "When you break the rules, fair goes right out the window."

"... Eh, I get it," I shrugged, pocketing my hands in my pants. The smooth fabric within a pleasant contrast to my cracked knuckles.

"Why so nervous, though? Is there something on your mind?"

"... Yes, there is."

"Would you like to tell me? By the way, this doesn't have to be the last time we talk, we can find a way if you feel the need to continue therapy," she intertwined her fingers, leaning back into her seat as did I.

I hummed in reply, gathering the strength to tell her, "Well, it's just I... I..."

She stayed silent, patiently letting me construct the right sentence to begin with, no notepad to memorize, no microphone to record, just me and her.

"I... I'm scared. "

A moment of thought later, she inquired, "Scared?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, that's perfectly natural," she leaned a little forward, locking her eyes with mine as she spoke, "It's okay to feel scared from time to time, especially when moving to different places, getting to know new people, or when you're overthinking things. What's important to remember is that things do get better, and those feelings will pass and make way for pleasant ones."

"But I-I'm going to m-meet, my... wife? "

"Of course, you said it yourself: 'Today is the day.' Aren't you excited? The love of your life waiting for you behind these walls?" Her words didn't help much to elevate the worry, so I voiced that.