Waltz of the City Lights

Chapter 1

Moscow was enveloped in a nighttime cloak, like being dressed in soft velvet that gently conceals all the city's imperfections and reveals only the mysterious outlines of its streets and buildings. A light breeze, like a whisper of ancient legends, rustles through the tree branches, and the few passersby, like shadows, glide along the streets, trying not to linger under the stars longer than necessary. Among these shadows and light reflections, she appears—a woman whose name is known to only a few.Kismet walked down the street as if gliding over the surface of water. Her stride was confident and light, like someone who knows exactly where they are going. The skyscrapers, like ancient giants, reflected their shimmering lights in her dark hair, creating the illusion that her strands were coming to life, turning into writhing snakes. Each of her steps was filled with grace and mystery, as if she moved to music audible only to her. She seemed to have escaped from a story wrapped in mystery and romance, but...Mark, a young journalist, stood at the street corner, waiting for a taxi. His day had been long and tiring, and he longed to return home quickly. However, when he saw Kismet, his fatigue vanished, replaced by curiosity and a slight excitement. She was like a mirage—real and ephemeral at the same time, like a fleeting dream in reality. Her presence was so tangible that it seemed as if the air around her became denser, infused with the scent of mystery.He couldn't take his eyes off her. Kismet, as if sensing this, slowed her pace and met his gaze for a moment. At that moment, Mark felt as if time had frozen. Her gaze was deep and penetrating, as if she saw right through him, knowing not only his thoughts but also his most intimate dreams, fears, and hopes. That gaze was like a key to his soul, unlocking doors he was afraid to touch.Kismet smiled—and in that smile was something more than just a greeting. It was a mystery, a challenge, an invitation to a world Mark did not know but desperately wanted to explore. "Who is she? A time traveler, a loving soul, or a keeper of the forgotten?" Questions linger in the air like morning mist, and only the bitter truth knows the answer. But perhaps this is the charm of the Moscow night: it conceals yet reveals, creates mystery and leaves room for dreams.