She was carrying hideous, disturbing yellow flowers in her hands.
The hell knows what their name is, but they are the first to appear in Moscow for some reason.
And these flowers stood out very clearly on her black spring coat.
She was carrying yellow flowers! Not a good color.
She turned from Tverskaya into a lane and then she turned around. Well, you know Tverskaya, don't you? Thousands of people were walking along Tverskaya, but I can vouch for the fact that she saw me alone, and she looked not just anxiously, but even as if morbidly.
It was not so much her beauty that struck me, as the unusual loneliness in her eyes, unseen by any one else!
Obeying this yellow sign, I, too, turned into the alley and followed her footsteps.
We walked down the crooked, dull alley in silence, me on one side and her on the other. And there was, imagine, not a soul in the alley.
I agonized, for it seemed to me that it was necessary to speak to her, and I worried that I would not utter a word, and she would go away, and I would never see her again...
And imagine, all of a sudden she spoke:
- Do you like my flowers?
I distinctly remember the sound of her voice, low enough, but with breakdowns, and, silly as it was, it seemed to echo in the alley
and echoed off the yellow dirty wall.
I quickly moved to her side, and as I approached her, I answered:
- No.
She looked at me in surprise, and I suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, realized that I had loved this very woman all my life!