ANGELIC KISS (ENG)

On a Sunday morning, Sophie, Emi, and Fleya came to Mariam’s place. She had just finished cleaning. She now had her own corner in the wardrobe, where a small amount of her clothes and personal belongings were kept, and beneath them lay a photo album that Elvin had given her for her birthday. She was lying on the bed, flipping through its pages, smiling and melting with affection, and didn’t even notice when her guests gathered at the doorway. 

— We’re going to celebrate New Year’s together, — Mariam said to Elvin. 

 
— Yeah, baby, I’m in. Where? 

 
— At Emi’s place. 

 
— Oh, with that old guy who was yelling and spitting last time? 

 
— Yeah, but we’ll all be together! That’s the only option. We can’t fit here, and we definitely can’t set a table. 

 
— If only I hadn’t moved out… Anyway, we’ll be at Mtatsminda, — Sophie said. — By the way, who bought gifts? Are we all giving each other presents? 

 
— What if I don’t have money? — Mariam replied. — Honestly, it’s easier to count who actually does! Elvin and I are broke. I’m not sure. 

 
— You can try making something by hand. Anyway, whatever… I’m giving gifts to everyone. Even Tamara, Vakhtang, and the kid. 

 
— I wonder if they’ll even give you anything back… — Mariam said sarcastically. 

 
— Maybe they will? And I don’t give gifts because I expect something back. I do it because I like it. 

 
— And what did you get them? 

 
— For the kid, a talking giraffe toy; for Tamara, an elegant dress; for Vakhtang, a wooden kitchen sign that says “MONEY LIVES HERE.” 

 
— Oh, Miss Virtue you are! — Mariam burst out laughing. — You really had to tease him like that! “Money lives here!” 

 
Sophie laughed too. 

— Anyway, I haven’t finished shopping yet. I’ll go out again today for what I didn’t manage to buy. 

 
— I’ll go too, — Emi said. — Honestly, I haven’t bought anything at all, but I’d like to make a few things. 

 
— Fleya, what about you? You’re with us, right? Gifts are basically free for you anyway. 

 
— Yes, — Fleya replied, — I’ll go today as well. 

A few hours later, she wandered alone through a snowy market, searching for gifts and placing them into the folds of her skin. 

“A pink box with a copper heart—for Emi…” 
“For Mariam, I’ll give a bundle of fallen leaves, that earring, and some sweets.” 

Fleya stopped by a stall with hanging carpets. 

“Just like the one in Emi’s room, but new… and hers is old. Maybe our home needs a new carpet? But how would I carry it… And why do people hang carpets on walls anyway? Is it required? Do they protect them from something?” 

Sophie entered a small, tucked-away travel agency hidden behind a colorful image of a tropical island surrounded by palm trees and sea. She approached the counter where an elderly short man with a large bald patch stood; kind-looking, but with a slightly rough voice: 

“Georgiy. I’m happy to help you choose a travel route. This season there are discounts for Thailand, the Turkish Black Sea coast, and ancient fortresses of Armenia. Choose whatever you like, don’t be shy. All available options are on the leaflet and the information board.” 

— I’d like a romantic trip to our mountains in the first or second week of January, for a couple of days, — Sophie replied. 

— Ah, then I can offer my favorite route: Kazbegi, the town of Stepantsminda. It’s a picturesque mountain valley at an altitude of 1750 meters. Accommodation in a guesthouse, three meals a day, all entertainment within the complex included. And this tour is actually my own, author’s route, so I’ll take you there myself and accompany you throughout the trip, — the tour operator said, winking and clicking his tongue. — How many days, how many people? 

— Four days, four people. 

— OK. Then I can offer the 6th of January there, and the 10th back. The price is 1100 lari. 

— Deal. 

— Write down the number. 

Later on, fate brought her to Marjanishvili — the place where her life had unfolded not so long ago: her home had been there, her work had been there — and now she had neither. She stepped out of the metro, glanced over the familiar streets that had not yet managed to become strange to her, and headed toward her old apartment. 

“Tomorrow new tenants are moving in,” she remembered. “This is the last time I can enter my room.” 

She unlocked the door with her key, stepped inside, looked at the pale green wallpaper, at the neatly spread blanket, sprinkled some fish food into the aquarium one last time, sat down on the floor, and burst into tears. Bitter, painful tears — not because she disliked living in the new house with Emi, but because the old one had been too dear to her. 

“It feels like I’m saying goodbye to someone close, leaving a piece of myself and my story here — something so important and huge, even though I lived here for barely more than a year…” 

And five minutes away on foot, hanging on one of the ordinary Tbilisi buildings, was a crooked sign — lilac letters against gray: “Marfi.” Sophie could not walk past it. The staircase leading to the entrance was cluttered with dusty boxes. A sign on the door read: 

“Store closed for technical reasons on December 26th, 27th, and 28th.” 

“Mariam said we’d at least stay open until New Year’s…” Sophie recalled sadly. “Looks like she’s never coming back here again.” 

She stepped inside, kicked a flowerpot with a small dried-up tree, and black clumps of dirt scattered across the floor. 

“How could everything collapse so suddenly and so quickly… And all because of one failed season!” 

Tears rolled down her cheeks again. 

“I don’t even want to hold a clearance sale,” she thought. “It hurts too much. I’ll just drag all the boxes straight to our room.” 

Above her, outside by the sign, two young men stopped. 

“Should we go in?” 
“Yeah.” 

They walked downstairs, saw the mess everywhere, and immediately turned back around. 

At the same moment, Emi was walking down the staircase. She knocked and entered. 

— Emi! Hi! What are you doing here? — Sophie asked in surprise. 

— I wanted to buy a gift. 

— I decided to say goodbye to the store. You probably already know we’re closing down. 

— I know, Sophie. 

— Who are you buying a gift for? 

— Fleya. None of the clothes would fit her, but maybe a handbag would. It’d be better than storing things in the folds of her skin. 

— Take whatever you want. None of this got sold anyway. I was planning to haul it all over to your place. 

— And you’re seriously not going to sell any of it? 

— No. It’s ours now. We’re going to be the most stylish girls around! 

— What about Mariam? 

— I’m not sure she even cares about any of this anymore. 

— Are you upset with her? 

— I’m just not sure she values our friendship or everything we built together. 

Emi called a cargo taxi, helped Sophie move the boxes, and then they went home. 

Meanwhile, Mariam was lying carelessly in bed with a wet towel wrapped around her head, scrolling through social media. 

— Goth party tonight at eight… Want to go? — she asked Elvin. 

— Sure, — he replied. — Should we invite your friends? 

— Yeah… I’ll call them myself. 

Mariam dialed Sophie’s number. 

— Hello? 

— Hey. 

— There’s a party tonight at eight, wanna come with us? 

— I’ve been unpacking thirty boxes of unsold clothes from our store. Emi and I had to call a truck and carry everything home. We literally just finished. And honestly, Mariam, I’m still hurt that you made this decision and couldn’t find another way. 

— Sorry… I didn’t want to hurt you. 

— It’s okay. You shouldn’t apologize for your choice if all of this was weighing you down so much. 

— That’s good. So… are you coming? 

— I’ll come. 

— What about Emi and Fleya? 

Sophie called out to them from the room and told them about the plan. 

— Yeah, they’re coming too. 

— Let’s meet at the metro station at seven-thirty. 

Sophie sat silently in a chair, staring off somewhere into the distance with a tense expression on her face. 

— Are you okay? — Emi asked. 

— Not really. I’m unemployed and homeless now! 

— But… you chose to move in with me yourself. Don’t you like it here? 

— I do. Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. 

— I’m not upset. I understand. You miss your old home? 

— Yeah. If I put it simply, I miss my old home, “Marfi,” and the friendship Mariam and I used to have. But if I put it more honestly… I feel like I’m falling apart from realizing I’ve never really been myself. As a child, like almost everyone, I depended on my parents for everything. But once Mariam appeared in my life, I started depending on her for everything instead. After school I never studied further — I immediately started working in the store that was originally hers, the same store she later destroyed herself. There were always lots of different people around me, but I believed the only person who could ever truly be close to me was Mariam… I’ve just been her tail all these years. 

Emi hugged her and took her hands. 

— Yeah… I understand that so well. Sometimes I feel exactly the same. I’m just Mariam’s tail too. And… you still love her, don’t you? 

Sophie lowered her head, looked directly into Emi’s eyes, and said: 

— Now I love you. 

— I love you too. But if she loved you back, you’d choose Mariam, right? 

— Hey, I could ask you the exact same thing! 

— Okay, let’s stop before this conversation goes too far. We should get ready. Honestly, I don’t even want to go. 

— Me neither. But we’re still going, right? 

— We’re still going. 

— You know… actually, it’s a really good thing we’re together. It’s time to admit that neither of us would’ve ever worked out with Mariam. Because she’s chaos — but together, you and I are strength. 

— Exactly! 

— I want to wear something new, — Sophie said excitedly. 

— Thirty boxes at your disposal, — Emi replied with a smile. 

— This hoodie is so pretty. Weird that nobody even bought it! 

— Yeah. And it looks really good on you. 

— Thanks. I’ll wear this one. 

— I want to pick something new too. 

Emi grabbed a wrinkled white grunge-style skirt with a yellowish tint, put it on, and asked Sophie: 

— How does it look? 

— Gorgeous! It’s amazing. Emi, I still can’t believe all of this belongs to us now. We’re going to be the biggest fashionistas. 

— Yeah, it’s wonderful… But I think we should still give at least half of it to Mariam. It was her store too. 

— Technically, yes. But honestly speaking, we didn’t invest equally. I probably paid for eighty percent of the inventory while we split the profits fifty-fifty. 

— Seriously? 

— Yeah. I always had more money. Though it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve never liked counting money — it makes me feel mercenary. If Mariam asks for anything, I’ll give her however much she wants. And if she doesn’t — which I honestly expect — then we’ll keep everything. 

— I see. Either way, we’re not losing anything, and that’s what matters. 

— Yeah… we’ve already lost enough, — Sophie replied with bitter irony. — Ready? 

— I’m ready. Fleya, time to go out! 

Five minutes later, Sophie and Emi were already walking downhill along the street, with the enormous Fleya trailing behind them. By the time they reached “Gallery,” Mariam and Elvin were already waiting there. 

The five of them went down into the metro and headed toward the southern edge of the city. The nearest station was called Samgori. They emerged onto the surface and were met by a massive food market where vegetables and fish lay on pieces of cardboard, mixed with snow and mud beneath their feet. 

— Let’s walk fifteen minutes, it’s close from here, — Elvin suggested. 

Everyone agreed and they headed deeper into the alleys, whose appearance felt poor and provincial. Cramped self-built houses alternated with broken graffiti-covered fences and abandoned empty lots. Bored teenagers leaned over the balcony of a crumbling Soviet apartment block, tossing cigarette butts onto the ground. A group of local boys stopped them and asked: 

— Where are you from, where are you going? 

And from a group of homeless children, around seven or eight years old, one little girl stopped, looked at Elvin, and asked: 

— Why is your hair red? Is your head bleeding? 

The club was located in one of the shabby courtyards, inside a tiny place opposite a large building with shattered windows. Standing at the entrance and nervously dancing alone was the same man who had been hitting on Mariam in this very club the other day. He was tall and skinny as a skeleton, looked over thirty, with thin chopped-off black hair hanging to his shoulders, dressed in a careless dirty shirt and thin trousers. He smelled strongly of alcohol and, honestly, made an utterly disgusting impression on almost anyone. 

Fleya grimaced, knowing strangers could neither see nor hear her. Mariam shook her head, sighed, and held out her hand to him. 

— Angelic! — he said to her, for some reason softening the “g.” — I remember you people. 

— I remember you too, — Mariam replied. 

— I see the rest of your band members are here too, except Gabi, but that’s fine, Gabi usually shows up later at night. So then: Vazha Gelashvili, son of the legendary Konstantin Gelashvili, producer, and ever since Friday, a devoted fan of your music, even though you’ve only released three songs. I already see huge potential and I want to offer cooperation. I’ll get your band into the charts! 

Mariam blinked and listened carefully. 

Could this fool really be a producer? He’s not bad… at least with words, she thought. 

— Thank you, that’s really nice to hear. Let’s talk in the back courtyard, it’s quieter there. 

— Let’s go have a convo. 

Mariam walked away, asking everyone else to stay behind, though Elvin followed after her. 

— Same as always, — Sophie said, staying with Emi and Fleya. — Some unpleasant creep is feeding her nonsense right now so he can scam her somehow. 

— But what if he really can help us? — Emi replied. — Maybe he actually is a good producer. 

— Didn’t you notice he’s a drug addict? 

— That’s terrible, but if all he’s doing is promoting our music, then why not? 

— And dealing with a drug addict and paying him money isn’t a problem to you? 

Emi paused in thought before answering: 

— Let’s wait for Mariam to tell us what he says, and then we’ll decide. Let’s not fight, especially since I’m against drugs, you’re against them, and Mariam is too, actually. 

— He’s so unpleasant, — Fleya added. — I definitely wouldn’t advise you to associate with him. 

The negotiations lasted a little over half an hour. Vazha sat Mariam and Elvin down at a roughly nailed-together wooden table in the corner of the back courtyard and began: 

— Ahem-ahem, in the modern world the music industry has become far more than just music. Yes, sound, lyrics, all that matters of course, but the most important thing in a band is image — or, speaking in modern language, the overall vibe, — Vazha stopped to cough again. — People love obsessing over idols. Little girls and boys love covering entire walls with posters of their favourite star, someone beautiful and dressed in the latest fashion. Musicians have to be handsome, stylish, confident. There has to be a certain body language so the audience looks at them and thinks: “Damn, they’re so cool, they’re incredible!” And you’re exactly the kind of group with an amazing image already: the looks, the clothes. You don’t have any problems there, and I want to help you with organizing concerts, getting you into the scene, so to speak, into high society. I’ve spent all twenty-seven years of my life between two countries: America and here. And honestly, I think this place is better — more opportunities. Our Tbilisi is almost like the promised land. Right here, on this very stage, a future world star is being born already. So here’s how we begin: on January fourth, 2026, I’m organizing for you... 

Mariam came back glowing with excitement. 

— He’s going to do everything for us for free! 

Everyone froze in surprise, staring at her. 

— How… for free? — Sophie asked. 

— Vazha is very rich and successful. He’s incredibly inspired by our music. Yeah, it sounds absurd, we’re beginners, amateurs, just at the very start of our career… but… I could barely believe my own ears when he said he’d give us this kind of opportunity completely free of charge. He’s worked with artists who became millionaires, and he’s even worked in the States. 

— Listen, I’m happy for you and I want to support your optimism, but this still sounds suspicious to me. There’s definitely some catch you either don’t know about or he hasn’t mentioned. Free cheese only exists in a mousetrap. I think he’s after success in bed, not in music. 

— I’m sure he’s completely serious. There are enthusiasts who genuinely help and invest in things they like out of pure goodwill. And the fact that he’s a drug addict doesn’t mean he’s a bad person or that he should be branded forever, even though I’m against drugs myself and not changing my opinion on that. 

— I’m not against it, Mariam. I only help you with the band sometimes, so the producer side of things doesn’t concern me that much. But ask your partner, Emi, what she thinks. 

— Emi, what do you think? 

— I agree, — she answered. — But only on one condition — especially you, Mariam: we do not become friends with him and we keep as much distance from him outside work as possible. Then there’s another question: if he’s working for free, how exactly are we supposed to repay him? It can’t simply be for nothing. 

— Maybe once we become famous enough that not only Georgia but the whole world knows us, we’ll repay him for everything all at once. But honestly, he said he was doing this selflessly. By the way, on January fourth we’re going to Kakheti to film a music video in an old castle. The entire territory is booked for us for the whole day and night. It’ll be the five of us, Vazha, a camera crew — there’s even a whole bus already rented. 

Emi’s eyes lit up. 

— Okay, now that I really like! Just please — I’m begging you — he’s only our producer, not our friend! 

— Of course. 

Fleya waited until everyone finished talking and then said: 

— I still don’t understand him, of course… but I’d really love to go to Kakheti. When I was little, gods used to fly to us from there, and they said it was very beautiful.