Don’t Fall in Love with an Aquarius: Saint Petersburg. Volume 2. Anastasiia Deniz Mitchell. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Anastasiia Deniz Mitchell
Издательство: Издательские решения
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isbn: 9785005941398
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winking, “you can tell me anything you want. So, what’s your story?”

      The man’s friend look standing nearby caught up:

      “Do you want me to buy an ice-cream for you, Miss?”

      The second man looked practically the same.

      “An ice-cream?” I mopped the tears away from my face. Well, actually, I needed anything to distract myself from what I’d just got over.

      “Did he betray you?” the man with pigeons asked.

      “Emre didn’t meet me!” I cried again.

      “Oh, my God!” the man rolled his eyes at me. “Is he local?”

      “N-n-n-o-o-o-!” I gave out a shriek. “He’s from Turkey!”

      The two friends looked at each other. The man with pigeons’ friend burst into laughter.

      “You know what’s Turks’ opinion of beautiful Russian girls?” he asked. “They think you’re all silly dolls!”

      “Not at all!” I protested. “They’re cool!”

      Laughter.

      “My girl, they’re so cool one of them has forgotten to meet you! As a result, you’re now sitting, crying here, on the bench, with us trying to sooth you!” the man with pigeons looked at me.

      I calmed down a bit. My tears wouldn’t help and correct the situation, after all.

      “Did you meet before?” the man’s friend asked.

      “No,” I lowered my eyes. “We were going to meet for the first time.”

      “Do you know what I’ll tell you, Miss? You shouldn’t trust just anybody from the first corner, especially online. Didn’t you realize that?”

      I said nothing.

      “Where does he live? Do you know anything else about the guy? His surname? Address? Place of work or studies?” the man with pigeons asked.

      “LETI!1’ I cried again.

      “Ah, the very Electrotechnical University,” he chuckled. “Hmm… Is he a smart one?”

      “Y-y-y-e-s-s,” I muttered. “He’s very smart.”

      “They’re all smart and clever,” the man with pigeons spat left. “Until you, naïve girls, come to see them.”

      He burst into laughter.

      “Oh, your love stories are so intriguing,” the man’s friend said and looked ay me. “At the same time, they’re all sad. By the way, it’s not the first story I happen to hear so far. There have been many cases like that. Believe me, Miss.”

      “Okay,” I sighed, wiping the tears away from my face.

      “What’s your name, you beautiful girl?”

      “Aziza,” I said.

      “And where are you from?”

      “Kazan.”

      “Yeah,” he chuckled, “I can see now. Well, Aziza, when you come into a big city, you should be careful. You mostly don’t know who’s in front of you, especially if you’ve never seen the person before. Got it?”

      “Got it,” I sighed.

      “Good,” the second man said. “Now, here’s your ice-cream. It’s kind of hot today, by the way.”

      With these words, he took one ice-cream out of the freezer and passed it over to me. A pistachio one. Mmm… One of me favorite flavors.

      “One more thing, Miss,” the man with pigeons said. “Once you fall in love with a man, be careful. Extremely careful,” he put an emphasis on the word “extremely’. “Look how you’re suffering now. Because of the man who simply haven’t met you. Because of such nonsense, you feel so much pain. You now understand what I mean?”

      “Yes. I agree,” I nodded. Now, it was time to go. I’d got to visit Vasilyevsky Island. But first, I had to go to the Kazan Cathedral. “I feel much better now.”

      The man’s friend laughed.

      “I hope it’s more because of our words than of the ice-cream!”

      “So true!” I smiled.

      “If you have nowhere to elapse, LETI is the only place’

      I went out of the Kazan Cathedral and said goodbye to both the men. Good fellows they were, the man with pigeons and his friend, the iceman.

      I headed towards the Island.

      The underground railway in Saint Petersburg isn’t that big. So I found the station needed easily.

      “Vasileostrovskaya Station,” the train speaker said.

      I got out of the wagon and up to the ground from the railway.

      In Vasilyevskiy Island, there was a sacred place – Xenia Peterburgskaya Chapel. The church was named after a woman who is a patron saint of Saint Petersburg. According to the legend, she gave all her possessions to the poor after her husband died.

      In the place where the chapel was located one could feel the peace and calm of the atmosphere there. I could perceive the spirit of the cemetery around the chapel. The perfect silence always makes you think the right way.

      In the Chapel, I prayed the God and the Holy Blessed Xenia to give me the chance – at least the only one – to come across Emre, to see him.

      “If only They heard my prayers,” I thought. “If only They could let me see the man.”

      I was constantly repeating the prayer. I loved Emre. And I thought I’d love him… forever.

      While I was passing the exit from the Chapel, I saw three beggars there – two middle-aged women and a man, approximately the same age as the women.

      I rushed towards them with a few coins and started crying.

      “Please, help me!” I sobbed. “Please, help me! I’m helpless! I’ll die without him!”

      “What’s happened, my dear girl?” asked the woman that looked older. “What’s the matter with you?”

      “I love him!” I was sobbing.

      “So, what’s the matter with you?” asked the other woman. “Tell us!”

      “I love a man. His name is Emre. I can’t live without him. But…”

      “But what?” the man asked thoughtfully. “Has he left you? Has he betrayed you? Has he got a more beautiful, or, let’s say, a richer girl than you?”

      “I don’t know anything!” tears streamed down my face. “I just thought Emre would meet me…”

      “And he didn’t?” the older woman raised her eyebrow.

      “He didn’t!” I sighed.

      “Poor you, my girl!” the woman looked sympathetically. “Is he from Saint Petersburg?”

      “He’s from Ankara, Turkey.”

      “Oh, my God!” exclaimed the younger woman. “A Turk! You love him, don’t you?”

      “I do!” I lowered my eyes.

      “But it’s quite a good feeling, isn’t it?” the older woman asked.

      I said nothing.

      “What’s your name, dear girl?”

      “Aziza.”

      “Do you live here, in Saint Petersburg, Aziza?”

      “No. I don’t. I’m from Kazan.”

      “Ah,”


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Saint Petersburg Electrotechnical University, bearing the former and the current abbreviation, LETI.