The smell of smoke remained on Bojan's coat, familiar and stubborn. Dunja noticed it while seeking her scarf, then found an open cigarette packet in an inside pocket. She didn't wait with the packet displayed like courtroom evidence. When he arrived, she said she knew he was smoking again. Bojan immediately claimed it belonged to a colleague. Dunja lowered her scarf and asked him not to begin this conversation with someone else's name.
Quitting had been his decision after a long discussion about costs and habits he wanted to change. Dunja supported him but never requested a promise that it would be easy. Recently, he often went downstairs for things they didn't need: another loaf, batteries, water while a full bottle stood in the refrigerator. Returning, he said he had met someone and stayed talking. Now those small stories formed a schedule he knew and she didn't.
He admitted smoking since summer. He was ashamed to admit failing, especially after she praised him before friends. Dunja said she could apologize for public praise that created pressure. She couldn't accept responsibility for every subsequent lie. What hurt most was his once blaming a neighbor for smoke entering their window, leading Dunja to confront a woman who had done nothing.
Bojan apologized to the neighbor himself. He didn't bring Dunja to translate his discomfort. Then they discussed what she actually wanted: a smoke-free home and honest answers about shared money. She didn't want to count cigarettes, search pockets, or interpret every outing. Bojan sought support for quitting but didn't announce the new attempt as a gift to her. It was his responsibility, with room to admit difficulty before concealing it.
The following week, he said he had smoked after a bad day. Dunja felt disappointed but gave no speech. She asked whether he wanted discussion or simply wanted her to know. He said, for now, he wanted her to know. It wasn't romantic and didn't immediately restore trust. Still, the conversation ended somewhere real, without an invented colleague forgetting packets or an innocent window supposedly admitting every problem.
In spring, he cleaned the coat again. Dunja hung it beside hers without checking pockets. They still disagreed about money and habits, but he stopped going downstairs for unnecessary water bottles. One evening, he went walking and said staying home felt difficult. Dunja wished him a pleasant walk. Returning, he asked whether there was tea. For the first time, she didn't need to search that ordinary sentence for a missing part.