Megrelburg: The Heart of Van Helten [English Version]

Out in the corridor, Howard almost despaired for a moment, scanning the crowd for Emily. The hallway was long, with tall windows through which dim autumn light fell. The walls were painted a pale green, peeling in places, and old wooden benches with metal legs stood along them. The school was already living its ordinary life: someone laughed, someone argued, someone hurried, and someone just stood, like him, trying to catch a fleeting moment. Howard quickly glanced over his own appearance, adjusted his dark gray coat, checked that his collar lay straight, that his tie knot hadn’t slipped, that the corner of a crumpled paper wasn’t sticking out of his pocket—it was more important than ever that nothing spoiled his neat, composed look, as if a correct fold on his sleeve could somehow balance the awkwardness squeezing his chest.

“There can’t be that many coincidences,” flashed through his mind. “That she came over, that she spoke, that she saw something in my painting... It can’t be for nothing. And I can’t lose it in this crowd.”

He searched the faces, hoping to spot her dark hair again, the light strand falling onto her cheek, her slightly squinting gaze. And then, amid the noise, he thought he heard her voice:

“Howard!”

He turned. In his imagination, Emily stood a little way off, by the window, waving to him, trying to get his attention. There was something in her eyes that instantly washed away all that inner turmoil: not the expectation of a perfect scenario, not the fear of saying the wrong thing, but a simple, vivid “you’re here, I see you.”

“Wait!” she called, pushing through the stream of kids, and finally came up to him, slightly out of breath, but with that same smile that made everything around a little brighter. “I thought you wouldn’t notice. It’s such chaos here, like everyone suddenly decided the break is a survival race.”

Howard smiled awkwardly, but this time he didn’t scold himself for the awkwardness. Let it be. Let her see him like that—a little lost, a little hurried, a little too eager to anticipate everything.

“I... yeah, I got held up a bit,” he admitted, not trying to seem like someone else. “Kept thinking... wanted to ask...”

Emily tilted her head slightly, as if listening not only to the words but to what lay behind them.

“About what?”

And then all his prepared phrases collapsed like a house of cards under a light breath. And in their place came something real.

“I wanted to ask about your painting,” he said simply, looking straight into her eyes. “The one in section number three. I never got to see it. And I... really want to.”

Emily was smiling—not broadly, but as if his words had landed on something inside her that had long been waiting for exactly that.

“Then come early on Thursday,” she said quietly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “Before class starts. I haven’t put it away yet. I’ll show you.”

For a second, Howard felt that all that school noise, all that bustle had suddenly found meaning. Because ahead wasn’t just a lesson. Ahead was a moment that didn’t need to be calculated. It just needed to be lived.

“All right,” he answered quietly, feeling something inside him settle quietly but firmly into place. “I’ll be there.”

But then Emily’s image began to blur, and he heard someone calling him again, more insistently, louder.

“Howard! Howard, are you deaf?”

He flinched and turned. Bella, his classmate, stood in front of him with her usual mild sternness and a stack of printouts in her hands—the pages were a bit crumpled, with uneven edges: they had been typed on the school typewriter and then copied in the teachers’ lounge on an old photocopier that always smudged the paper with gray spots.

“Don’t forget to bring your part of the biology group project tomorrow. You remember your topic? Ethical aspects of biotechnologies, in case you forgot. We’re already behind, and Mrs. Crowley is starting to glare. If you don’t hand it in on time, we’ll all be in trouble, you understand.”

Howard nodded, flustered, feeling reality crash down on him with all its mundane weight.

“Yes, of course. Sorry... I just... got lost in thought.”

Bella sighed, as if used to Howard’s mind always being elsewhere, and nudged the stack of papers so they wouldn’t scatter.

“Just don’t forget. We’re hanging by a thread as it is.”

She nodded to him and immediately dissolved into the stream of students hurrying about their business.

Howard glanced again at that same window—the spot where, in his imagination, Emily had stood, waving and smiling at him. But she wasn’t there. Other students crowded around. And in the very corner that, in his mind, had been reserved just for her, there was only emptiness.

He felt a light but bitter disappointment—the kind that comes when you’ve seen something important so clearly, and it turned out to be only a trick of light and shadow. Fate, it seemed, had decided otherwise.

He adjusted his coat once more, as if that small, familiar gesture could give him back even a little confidence, and walked slowly down the corridor through the noise and bustle that no longer seemed hostile—just part of the world. A world where sometimes the most important conversations are still waiting for their hour.

Howard walked along the sidewalk, and yellow leaves rustled beneath the soles of his shoes—they covered the path like someone had scattered dry gold coins across the asphalt. Along the sidewalk stretched a low white picket fence—neat, creaking slightly in the wind, as if quietly humming an old suburban melody. Behind it stood their house—a big two-story home with a dark blue front door and a brass handle that gleamed faintly even in that gray October light. A little to the right was the garage—just as solid and familiar as everything else in the neighborhood where the van Heltens lived.

A couple of months ago, a bright green lawn had spread in front of the house, a lawn his father tended so carefully: every Saturday he brought out the lawnmower, as if it were his own small ritual of order in a world where so much did not go according to plan. Now the lawn was covered with leaves, and there was something both sad and right about it—autumn was taking its due, and resisting it seemed pointless. The mailbox by the gate was empty, and that too carried a kind of silence: no bills, no letters, no small signs that the world remembered you.

Howard pushed the door open and stepped into the entryway. Inside, it smelled of something homely—a light aroma of cinnamon, old wood, and just a hint of freshly washed floor. He took off his coat and hung it carefully on the hook. Then he walked slowly through the entryway, casting brief glances into each room. To the left was the living room: a knitted shawl lay on the armchair, a stack of magazines on the table, and photographs in simple wooden frames hung on the wall—in one, Howard was still just a little boy; in another, Susan in first grade, laughing, with two braids. The stairs to the second floor rose upward, creaking slightly, and somewhere above, in the quiet, one could almost hear the house breathing.

From the kitchen came a soft hum: something was sizzling on the stove, dishes clinked, and his mother’s voice could be heard—quick, light, as if she were talking not to herself but to the whole world at once.

“Mom, hi,” Howard said quietly, peeking into the kitchen.

Elizabeth van Helten stood at the stove, leaning over slightly to look into the pan. Her hair was pinned up in a neat bun, but a couple of soft curls had escaped at each temple, curling and falling onto her cheeks—just like Emily’s. At that accidental resemblance, Howard’s heart skipped for a second, and he quickly looked away, as if his mother might read the thought in his eyes.

“Hi there, my little storm cloud! How was school? Tell me, what’s new?” She turned and smiled, and there was so much warmth in that smile that even all his inner turmoil quieted for a moment.

“Oh, you know... everything’s fine. I sat with Susan and Vanessa today, chatted a bit. Vanessa was talking about her ideas for the school play again. And Tyler was spreading some gossip as usual, but nothing serious.”