The evening was smoothly transitioning into night, and the silence in our living room was broken only by the rustle of pages Chris Redfield was studying, and my muffled voice as I chatted on the phone with Lena, curled up on the sofa, while Chris sat in the armchair opposite, seemingly completely absorbed in yet another report.

The conversation with Lena was about trifles until her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You won't believe what I heard about our old Professor Petrov, the one who always wore a tweed jacket!" she began. I braced myself to listen, sensing something interesting was coming.

Lena continued, delivering the most absurd gossip I'd heard in a long time: "His wife, it seems, caught him cheating! But not with a woman... Imagine, she discovered he was secretly meeting at night... with the night watchman of the local botanical garden, Gennady! And, supposedly, they solve crosswords drawn on ficus leaves together and share their innermost thoughts about the development of rare orchids! She says the professor even gave Gennady a miniature watering can engraved 'To the best gardener of my heart', and found under the mattress love sonnets written... about botany, but addressed 'To Gennady, keeper of my soul'!" I suppressed a giggle, covering my mouth with my hand so Chris wouldn't hear my burst of laughter.

Chris, who had been as motionless as a statue until then, suddenly, almost imperceptibly, put his report down. He didn't lift his head, but I noticed his gaze flick over to me, then return to his papers, though the corner of his lip twitched betrayingly. A few seconds later, he slowly cleared his throat, as if choking on air, and his hand rested on the edge of the table, quite close to my sofa.

I continued to listen, laughing more openly now. Chris cautiously reached for his mug of tea. Taking a sip, he cast a quick, almost imperceptible glance at me, in which curiosity could be read. Then, as if an afterthought, he let out a barely audible sigh that could mean anything – from boredom to a hidden desire to know the details. I smiled into the phone, understanding that my always serious Chris probably just didn't want to openly admit his desire to participate in this absurd story.