Pyotr returned to his silent room. He hung the heavy, glittering star next to the glass bird. The tree tilted under the weight, looking ridiculous and vibrant. For the first time in a year, Pyotr didn't see a dying tree or a lonely room. He saw the light catching the glitter. He felt the cold draft from the window and, instead of shivering, he leaned into it.
The city was a blur of neon and slush, but inside the small apartment on the fourth floor, the air smelled of dried orange peels and old books. Pyotr sat by the window, his breath fogging the glass. Outside, the world was celebrating Christmas Eve, a whirlwind of laughter and heavy coats, but inside, the silence was heavy. rozdestvo_tak_xocetsya_zit
When he opened it, he found his neighbor’s young daughter, Anya, holding a lopsided paper star covered in too much glitter. Pyotr returned to his silent room