XXVI. EPILOGUE
The year 2036. In the world, so many upheavals, political turns, disasters, and breakthroughs had taken place, yet one thing remained unchanged: a large, overgrown cemetery where, somewhere deep within a labyrinth of gravestones, stood a beautiful white grave with a small rounded shape and a tiny cross on top. On it, the name Emi was engraved in grey letters — exactly in that short form, in both Cyrillic and Latin script — along with the years of her life: “2006–2026”.
It was a lovely February day. Now the gentle sun would appear, now light clouds would gather in the sky and a light rain would fall — just a few drops — and then it would clear again.
Every 21st of February, Sophie visited Emi. At noon, she would look at the grave in a melancholic silence, at the fresh flowers and sweets left by Emi’s parents that morning, and stare downward:
“There, two meters under the ground, my Emi lies. How much I loved her, how good I felt beside her!” — she remembered. — “Forgive me, forgive me, just in case, even though I don’t even know what I’m guilty of…”
Sophie was already thirty-one years old.
“She could have turned thirty this July…”
Outwardly, Sophie had not changed much: the same green eyes, the same tattoo on her neck, the same beautiful smile, the same thin white hair flowing in the wind — even her style of clothing was almost identical to ten years ago. Only she had become slightly fuller, her face rounder, and a piercing had appeared under her lip.
“Ah, Emi, if you hadn’t died,” Sophie leaned over the gravestone, “I wonder how everything would have turned out? I was so angry at you, but with time I would have forgiven you. Come to me more often, I miss you so much! Ten years have passed, and the pain still hasn’t gone away. As always, I don’t say goodbye — maybe we’ll meet again there, in heaven… Alright, I should go. See you next year, or maybe I’ll come again on your birthday.”
Sophie sat down on her knees and kissed the ground.
She was about to get up and go about her business when she noticed a figure approaching in the distance.
A dark-haired girl in an oversized sweater, with chains clinking on her chest. “She looks familiar,” Sophie thought. “Do I know her? I remember meeting her a few times in the city — once she sat across from me in a restaurant, another time we passed each other in the metro. Maybe I saw her at Emi’s funeral? Could this be Salome?” The girl approached the grave.
But up close she looked like a fully grown woman: her face had sharpened, her features become more defined, her chest had developed, and even the scent of her perfume felt more adult than ten years ago.
She looked at Sophie shyly, and Sophie looked back at her.
— Hi… Sophie awkwardly took the inevitable first step.
— Hi, Salome answered confidently. — We know each other, don’t we? I just can’t remember from where.
— Do you know her? Sophie asked.
— She was very close to the person I loved most in this world.
— You mean Mariam?
— Yeah. Oh, I get it now. You’re Sophie. We don’t know each other personally, but I know you. Hi, Sophie! I remember you had pink hair ten years ago.
— Yes… that’s right. You’re Salome, aren’t you? It seems we were both connected to them, just in different periods of their lives. I met Emi — you probably heard about that — but later it became unbearable to live with those memories, and I also left Mariam, completely cut off contact. I thought time would pass and we’d talk again, but… unfortunately.
— So time has passed… but the pain hasn’t gone away.
— It’s strange that we’re basically strangers, yet we share so much.
— That’s true.
— Do you also think about them often? I still sometimes remember them before sleep.
— Yeah… those reckless rockers “ANGELIC KISS,” as I first thought of them, they so quickly melted my heart and never left it…
— So how did your life turn out? Sorry if it’s not my place, I’m just curious.
— I’m getting married tomorrow. My boyfriend — now my husband — is kind and insanely handsome, blond, very stylish, rich, and a head taller than me. We’re planning to move into a house by a lake. I feel happy.
— Congratulations. I wish you happiness, Sophie smiled.
— And you?
— Not bad. I work as a stylist, preparing people for shoots. I like my job. Every month on weekends I go to Turkey — my girlfriend lives in Istanbul, but we’re not planning a family yet; we need to move in together first. I feel like I haven’t changed inside at all — I still feel twenty. The only thing is, I think I won’t be able to love anyone the way I loved Mariam…
A tense silence fell.
Salome lowered her head and sat still for a long time, staring at the ground.
— Hey, Sophie called. Are you okay?
— Yeah… I just… I also… Salome said, her voice trembling.
— Oh… Sophie sighed. We really do have so much in common.
— You know… Salome said slowly, as if forcing herself, I… I haven’t been able to say her name even once in all these years. I barely held on until I heard that phrase — “I won’t be able to love anyone…” My heart is breaking. I never told anyone about Mariam. Never. The only things left of her are drawings and photos in the old house where I don’t live anymore. I visited Emi today for the first time in ten years. I just wanted to erase this part of my life, but only now I understand, standing at this grave, that it’s impossible.
Sophie nodded quietly in agreement.
— I had something very similar happen to me. Of course, it wasn’t quite as painful as you describe, but I still went into complete denial after my breakup with Emi and cut off everyone connected to her. I didn’t want to see or hear from any of them. And when Emi died… oh God, I felt like such a petty, insignificant person. Although it’s very hard for me to admit this, if she had stayed alive, I would probably still resent her to this day. But Mariam… her story was even more heartbreaking.
— Only now have I found the strength to talk about her. No, God, how much I want to talk about her! How much I’ve kept inside all these years! Mariam was wonderful. She was the kindest and brightest person in my life, even though she constantly denied it herself. She appeared out of nowhere, on an ordinary Thursday, just before my fourteenth birthday. In an instant, she became everything to me: my only support, my hope, my guide into real life. She loved me for no reason, and she loved me fiercely—honestly, I don’t even understand why. She was ready to do anything for me. She was my personal hero. I’m so sorry she left just as suddenly as she appeared. At that time, it felt like my whole life had come to an end.
— You speak about her with so much warmth… Sophie noted. — I had similar feelings for her, though I think we knew her for much longer: we were friends for almost five years, and for the first three I was in love with her, like with a girl.
— Actually, I still don’t know whether I loved her as a girlfriend or as a friend. But it doesn’t matter anymore.
Sophie looked at Salome for a long time, sorrowfully. In that moment, silence was more honest than any sugary reply.
— Did you… Sophie said with difficulty, — talk to her after everything?
— Yes… Salome broke down. — I was probably the last one…
— I really want to know what happened to her. Do you mind telling me?
— It’s fine, ask.
— The last time I spoke to her was at the funeral. We were standing next to each other, remember? You, me, and her. After that day, she disappeared from everywhere. I think she went to the village. Is that right?
— You’re right. That day Mariam deleted all her social media, contacts, threw away her phone, and went back to her family home. It was pouring rain; in the evening she came to me, completely soaked and in tears, said goodbye, and gave me a note with the address. She hugged me, my sister, and left. She looked so miserable. And you know, at that moment she didn’t just lose her closest friend. Some fans blamed her for Emi’s death, called her a murderer, and wished her dead. I can’t imagine how unbearable that must have been…
— Yes, I remember, Sophie replied. — I read those comments too. I was shocked—it was so unfair! Mariam could never do something like that. I wanted to meet her, to talk to her, but by then it was already too late.
— I went to that address. I managed to go there four times; the last time was in the summer, during the peak of the heat—we even swam in the river. I remember it like yesterday… At first I was terribly afraid for her. I couldn’t sleep at night, I kept thinking: what if she did something to herself?
Sophie wiped her wet eyes with her hand.
— I came to her a week later. I was shaking so much on that train! I got off, and from the station I walked through a field for about half an hour, almost to the border with Turkey. I felt like I was going to faint. It was damp and cold, I was stepping through unpleasant mud, and my shoes were completely soaked. Finally I saw the village houses. I opened the note and read: a wooden house with a yellow roof. There were no address signs, I wandered through the streets thinking: is this the one or not? On the way a dog almost bit me. I kept walking and then suddenly noticed it by chance: yes, wooden, with a yellow roof. I knocked. I thought I would die from fear. I imagined walking inside and Mariam not being there—or worse, no one answering at all. But someone opened the door. Her grandfather, a wrinkled old man with a red face and a sparse white beard, greeted me:
— Hey, who’s come here! What do you want, where are you from?
With a trembling voice, almost in tears, I answered:
— I’m Mariam’s friend.
— A friend? — he repeated. — Are you Salome by any chance? Come in, don’t be shy, why are you so scared!
After his words, it felt like a weight fell off my shoulders. I hadn’t even seen her yet, but hearing her grandfather’s voice, I understood that Mariam was alive and well. Their house was small: she and her grandfather slept in the same room but in separate beds. The kitchen smelled of honey and herbs, sticky fly strips hung everywhere, and mosquito coils burned in the corners. I looked around, and in my excitement I pulled the door to their room, but the grandfather stopped me:
— She’s sleeping, she’s been working a lot. Quiet, don’t wake her!
I whispered: “Okay,” and carefully opened the door.
My happiness was overwhelming when I saw Mariam lying on the sofa. She was on one arm, the other hanging off the edge, her legs loosely spread. The room was hot. She was softly breathing in her sleep. I wanted to scream from excitement, but I couldn’t—I understood she needed rest. When she woke up, she groaned, and outside it was already evening, getting colder. I felt both nervous and scared. I kept thinking: how will she react? Will I bother her? What if she’s not even happy to see me? But then why did she leave me that note…
Then she opened her eyes. Mariam was lying on her side, and the first thing she saw was me sitting on the floor. She looked at me with surprised eyes, probably thinking she wasn’t fully awake yet. Then she understood everything and said:
— Salome… I’m so glad you’re here! I was afraid you’d never come… come here!
I climbed under the blanket. The bed was so soft, warm, and comforting! Mariam’s hands were very hot. She kissed my cheek and asked how I was. I couldn’t answer and started crying. Mariam understood everything without words. We lay like that for a long time, hugging and warming each other—maybe an hour, maybe two. Mariam would drift into sleep, then wake up again, turn over, and stroke my chest.
Then her grandfather came in, peeked under the blanket, covered it, and said:
— Well, lying there like calves in my barn. Come on, let’s eat! I made porridge and soup.
Mariam and I got up and went into the kitchen. I still remember the taste of that food: slightly sweetened but bland millet porridge, and an extremely salty soup with chunks of fish and carrots. After dinner we went outside. It was dark and cold; nightingales were singing, and the earliest cuckoos were quietly calling in the distance. Mariam took a warm blanket and wrapped it around me. The air smelled of fresh hay and cow manure. We passed a huge haystack and the pastures full of animals before leaving the yard. Mariam suggested we go down to the river. I told her I was scared to walk around there in the dark. Mariam calmed me down, took my hand, and suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore.
We walked through the entire village. There were no streetlights, and the only sources of light were the occasional glowing windows, the moon, and the stars. Along the way Mariam told me stories:
— My best friend used to live here. She studied law and lives in Switzerland now. And that house over there belonged to my first boyfriend. I studied in this white building with the big windows. We used to skip classes and come to this playground…
It felt so strange to see the place where she had spent twenty years of her life. When we finally reached the river, I spread the blanket out so we could sit down comfortably. We listened to the rushing water. The river was narrow and violent, crashing against huge stones. Mariam smoked quietly for a long time. That was also the first day I ever tried smoking.
The next time I came was only a couple of months later, once my school holidays started. I had desperately wanted to see her earlier, but my guardian had practically locked me up after I ran away, and I didn’t want to risk losing my home forever. Though honestly, I had already started thinking about running away for good and moving in with Mariam. But if I had done that, I probably wouldn’t have had any future left at all.
I arrived late in the evening, when the lights in the house had already dimmed and everyone was getting ready for bed.
Mariam got up and greeted me in a whisper, her face glowing with happiness. She led me into the kitchen, switched on a tiny lamp, and treated me to fresh crispy apple charlotte cake. We slept in the same bed again. The next morning she woke me up at seven, said goodbye, and told me she was leaving to help her grandfather at the apiary. I stayed alone in the house, ate leftover porridge from the night before, and watched television. I don’t even remember what exactly I watched — probably some overly sweet melodrama.
I was so happy again when Mariam came back around lunchtime. We immediately went out to work. We worked the entire day under the blazing heat until sunset. I stayed beside her the whole time, helping whenever I could, though sometimes I worked on my own too. We cleaned the chicken coop, fed the animals, planted vegetables, chopped wood. I was unbelievably exhausted by the end of it, but I was happy. Poor Mariam — she worked like this every single day, except usually without the beekeeping.
I remember how she bent down to milk the cow, and I noticed the first gray roots in her hair. It scared me a little at the time, but I understood perfectly well what it meant and didn’t mention it. And the way Mariam treated that cow! She hugged it, kissed it, called it affectionate names. During that trip I stayed with Mariam for an entire month, and the longer I remained there, the less I wanted to go back home.
Every evening after work we would walk to the sports field beside the school. I don’t even know why we always chose that place — maybe because it was the only spot in the whole village lit by a streetlamp, and walking through complete darkness was honestly frightening. We talked constantly. We looked up at the stars. During those thirty days I felt that Mariam was slowly getting better, as though she were healing. She started joking again. She laughed again. We talked about everything, often about very deep things too. We tried to search for answers in the endless sky and the cosmos above us. We discussed love, loneliness, trauma, the meaning of life, spiritual paths. Sometimes I was amazed by her thoughts; they seemed so wise to me. But one day, shortly before I left, she frightened me terribly. She said she didn’t dream about anything anymore, didn’t make any plans, that she would never leave the village again, and that the rest of her life would pass there, inside that tiny world of her childhood. And meanwhile I was still clinging to my own maybe childish, naive dreams: studying design, moving to Europe, making clothes, finding a good boyfriend — or maybe even a girl like Mariam — making lots of friends, partying every day… It felt to me as if Mariam had aged years within a matter of months. It was as though she had forgotten the four vivid years she’d spent in Tbilisi and had slowly turned into her grandfather. Even the way she spoke had started sounding like him. It was such a strange feeling… like an old soul trapped inside an impossibly young body. But grief had made her that way.
I visited her again in July and August — not for as long, maybe ten or fifteen days at a time. By coincidence, I was with her on Emi’s birthday. That day Mariam refused to work, and her grandfather agreed to handle everything himself. She cried all day long, and I cried together with her. Toward evening we baked a pie dusted with sugar, filled with sour cranberries and sweet raisins. Mariam found a tiny candle in the attic and somehow dug up a printed photograph of Emi. She placed the photograph on the table as if Emi were sitting there with us, extinguished the candle, and said:
— So this would’ve been your twentieth birthday. I never imagined things would turn out this way!.. You know, I never truly believed there was anything after death, but I hope you’re happy there.
Then Mariam burst into bitter tears.
It hurt me terribly to watch her like that. The next morning Mariam went to church for the first time on her own and prayed for me and for Emi. I was deeply worried. Back in June I could still see flashes of hope and renewal in her eyes, but by the end of summer I understood that recovering was becoming almost impossible for her. She kept retreating further into herself, and that sense of “old age” inside her only grew stronger.
My world was destroyed when I came to visit her again in early September, right before ninth grade began, and Mariam was no longer there to greet me… Only her lonely grandfather lay on the sofa, looking miserable, and the trees in the garden had suddenly withered.
You know, Sophie, despite the deep wound inside me — a wound that has never healed and probably never will — my life after Mariam became much better than it had been before her. She helped me open up. She helped me realize that I wasn’t alone in this world, that I was capable of being loved and loving someone in return. I found friends, a new circle of people. Of course, there was never anyone like Mariam again, and there never will be. But I could finally call myself happy. And honestly, I still can.
Sophie listened carefully to Salome and never interrupted her once. The story moved her deeply.
— Thank you… — she said after Salome fell silent. — I… I understand now why Mariam spoke about you with such tenderness at the funeral. A person with a heart like yours is real gold.
— I think both of us have golden hearts, — Salome replied.
— Yeah… maybe we do… — Sophie answered shyly, glancing down at her hands.
— Now that I’ve finally told you my whole story, come to my wedding tomorrow.
— And you should come to one of my shoots someday.
Mariam and Salome exchanged contacts and went their separate ways until the next day.
And the beautiful white marble gravestone remained standing forever alone on the damp earth.