Katy was a widow.
Her husband had left too soon — a car accident, swift and merciless, that took his strength from him. He had left her only memories — some sweet, some painful — and little Terezka, who had his eyes and his laughter.
Nothing held her at home.
She had family there — her mother, her brothers. Friends who had always held her up, who came with open hearts and held her when she wept. But even so... even so, it was not enough. The emptiness was too great. A house full of memories. Streets where they had walked together. Parks where they had sat on benches and planned a future that never came.
And then her mother came — sat beside her on the sofa, took her hand, and said in a quiet but steady voice: "Katy, go. Go after what you long for. Go after your dream. Go after happiness. Here, it is only eating you alive."
So she and Tina and little Terka packed their things — two suitcases each, a few boxes of essentials — and fled to America. Fled from everything. From grief, from a past that pulled her under. From the hollow feeling that followed her every morning when she opened her eyes.
They were looking for a new beginning. A new life. A place where they could breathe more freely.
And yet right now, in this moment, Katy was not at home, and not at the shop.
She was standing behind the cameras in the busy studio, watching Michael. Thinking about everything that had happened — the rain in the garden, the scrap of fabric on the rose bush, his voice calling to her even when he wasn't speaking. That spark in his eyes when he searched for her in the crowd.
She didn't even notice that he had seen her.
He was moving toward her — step by step, slowly but deliberately, like a lion that has spotted its prey. She saw it too late. Her heart began to pound — fast, loud, painfully.
She tried to run.
She turned, wanting to disappear among the equipment, the cables, the technicians. But he was faster. He caught her hand — firmly, but not roughly. His fingers wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet made of silk.
She lifted her eyes to his.
And in that moment — that single, fragile moment — her whole world stopped.
Her gaze met his. And in her eyes there was suddenly fear. But also longing. Desire. Need. Everything at once, a mixture of emotions she could not control.
"Please, let me go," she whispered. Her voice trembled.
Instead of answering, he asked: "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
His voice was deep, resonant, full of curiosity and something she couldn't name. It wasn't anger. It wasn't rage. It was... interest. Real, sincere interest.
She looked into his eyes again — those forget-me-not blue eyes she knew from films, from posters, from photographs. But here, this close, they were even more intense. More alive. More real. They burned through her to her very soul, as though he could see everything — every lie, every hope, every secret dream.
She lowered her gaze to the floor. She had to look away. She couldn't bear it. That gaze was too powerful, too deep.
All she could manage was a trembling: "I... I don't know..."
Then he loosened his grip.
She didn't know how, but she pulled free and ran — between cameras, lights, people who stared at her strangely. She heard footsteps behind her. He was following. She ran faster, heart hammering against her ribs, breath catching.
After a moment he caught her again — more gently this time, more carefully, as though afraid of hurting her. As though he was holding something fragile that might break.
She said it again, even more urgently. "Please, let me go."
He let her go. Immediately. Without hesitation.
She stood before him, breathing fast, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with adrenaline. He looked at her — quietly, attentively, as though trying to memorise her.
Then he asked: "May I invite you somewhere? For coffee, perhaps. Or at least... where can I find you?"
She only shook her head. Her heart was pounding like drums at a ceremony. Her hands were trembling. She stepped back slowly.
Michael lowered his head. His shoulders fell. He looked disappointed, almost lost — like a man who has just lost something precious without ever truly having it.
That hurt her. More than she expected.
She turned halfway and called over her shoulder: "Tonight. At Bridge."
He lifted his head sharply. His mouth opened with surprise, as though he wanted to say something — but she was already gone. Disappeared into the crowd of technicians and assistants returning to their places. Her heart full of excitement, fear, and something that resembled hope.