Damir had seventeen windows open on his computer and none open in his office. The air conditioner hummed, his phone glowed, and the coffee Hana had brought cooled on the edge of his desk. He had not noticed the envelope she left beside it. He noticed only the scent of orange peel on her coat.
When they met, they ran a small agency from her living room. She wrote copy; he found clients. Now they had employees, a meeting room and an apartment where conversations sounded like extensions of business correspondence. Hana had recently sold her share and taken a job at a library. Damir called her departure a break.
At noon, an app showed him a photograph from seven years earlier. Hana sat on the floor among boxes, holding a slice of pizza. Beneath it was his old message: "Could you leave the world to everyone else tonight and have dinner with me?"
He copied it into their chat, added a heart and waited, pleased that he had finally done something spontaneous. Hana replied with a photograph of the envelope still lying beside his keyboard. Inside was a dinner reservation and a note in his own handwriting, written three weeks earlier, promising he would not forget their anniversary.
"I know," he typed, then deleted it. Then he called.
Hana was not angry about one forgotten dinner. She spoke calmly, with pauses that made it harder for him. She said he courted her when a photograph reminded him, and the rest of the time expected her to understand. As he began explaining the importance of the new contract, he heard himself saying exactly the same sentence as the previous month.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Decide what you're doing tonight. Without making me manage this too."
Damir did not cancel his work or announce a grand decision to his employees. He handed the prepared materials to a colleague, told the client he was unavailable after six and left. Outside the restaurant, he switched off his phone. Hana was already inside, wearing an ordinary green sweater. Her face did not show the relief he had expected as a reward.
Over dinner, she told him about an older reader who borrowed the same novel every week. He asked which novel, why the same one and what the woman's name was. Hana answered. For the first time in a long while, she did not check whether he had stopped listening. When the waiter cleared their plates, Damir ordered another tea. He had no next appointment.