Sanja managed to put on a loose shirt, butter bread, and open the window herself. Her hair was another matter. One arm remained in a cast, and her long hair fell across her face whenever she bent forward. She tried gathering it before the mirror until the elastic rolled behind a cabinet. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, much angrier about the elastic than about the fall on the stairs itself.
Viktor offered help as soon as he heard the comb hit the floor. Sanja said she could manage, although she had no new plan. They had been together eight months. Until then he had arrived at an apartment where almost everything was ready, including her. She had not deliberately performed perfection. She had simply grown up believing help was the last thing one requested, after exhausting every other possibility.
Viktor found the elastic and placed it on the table. He did not keep insisting. He went to make coffee, while Sanja remained staring at her hair as an unsolvable task. Finally she called him. She asked whether he could try making a braid with her instructions. He said he could try, but the last thing he had woven was a rope barrier on a school trip.
The first attempt fell apart as soon as he released the strands. The second began too high and pulled behind Sanja's ear. She said it was fine, although it was not. Viktor looked at her in the mirror and asked her to tell him when it hurt. He could not help if she confirmed every poor attempt as successful to protect his pride. The sentence made her laugh and feel a little sad.
On the third attempt they produced something resembling a braid. It was crooked, but her hair no longer fell across her face. Sanja wanted to go to the bathroom to adjust whatever she could, then stopped herself. Instead she took her coffee and sat by the window. Viktor washed the cup he had already dirtied while waiting. He did not seek praise for generosity. He simply asked whether she was ready for a walk now.
Over the following weeks he improved, while her instructions became clearer. When she could raise both arms again, she braided her hair quickly, almost without looking. Nevertheless, one Sunday morning she handed him the comb. She no longer needed help. She wanted a few peaceful minutes in which he would stand behind her carefully separating strands, while she had to do nothing except remain in the chair.