There hasn't been a day that you haven't thought about Gebhardt. memories, from the very first meeting to the separation, surfaced in the most colorful pictures. his laughter, facial features, mannerisms, events. That was what hurt: what you sometimes wanted to forget was too vivid. it was a punishment for sins — that's how you interpreted these torments of memories. especially the separation, that fateful day of your quarrel. even standing on the platform and waiting for the train that would take you away from Berlin, you hoped that he would at least allow you to apologize.

Many people said that you just didn't agree. you believed the Bible, he believed the state. you asked him to return to the path of Christianity again, to continue his life in the joint service of the Lord. Gebhardt chose to serve the leader, and he did not understand where he was going. that's why your last quarrel happened: he told you never to appear in his life again. He didn't see you off on the platform, he hasn't called you once since the beginning of the war, and you... you knew that it was useless to establish contacts again. All you had to do was pray for his health, not knowing where he was or if he was alright.

the worst dreams were with him. more precisely, the same dream, repeated from time to time over the years. a sunset sky of pink-orange light and a far-stretching plain, grass tickling your bare feet and his big, dark silhouette. you bring him a basket full of wildflowers, but he is indifferent to you. He also holds a basket in his hands, but it's completely empty. in the morning, you wake up with a feeling of pain in your chest, and even without interpretation, you understand what an empty basket in his hands means.

The long years of war exhausted you, but in the end you managed to hold out until the surrender. The whole world took a deep breath, ready to recreate new and beautiful things from the ruins with renewed vigor. By September, you were able to return to Berlin, where everything was gradually returning to normal. The vile flags were taken down, the buildings were restored, although there are still many ruins. You were glad that the very little church where it all started survived. under its domes, you and Gebhardt began.

It was quiet inside because it was Tuesday morning. there were few visitors, which created a certain intimacy of the moment. the familiar smell of incense, the cracked frescoes on the high walls, and the candles by the icons all seemed to say that the light had conquered the darkness. out of old habit, you wanted to light a candle for health, but along with your hand, the candlestick turned out to have another hand, clad in the sleeve of a gray flannel jacket.

It was him. None of you expected this meeting, but it did happen. hot wax dripped onto your hands as you stared at each other in silence. He got older, the wrinkles deepened slightly, but his eyes... they haven't changed.

— I knew that unfortunately or fortunately, you would be alive. — you want to say it at the same time, but it comes out faster. He also prayed for your health, despite that quarrel. at this moment, you are not hugging or crying, but you feel the need for this silence. He's shy about smiling, but you know he has forgiven. he will never hold a grudge against you again, because his basket is empty. his basket is empty so that you can put flowers in it.

a smile begs for his face, but he tries to hold it back. After all, he's still devastated and disappointed. he silently asks you to put flowers in his empty basket.

There's a lump in your throat when you see his eyes. They're smiling, they're full of fireworks of joy and relief. he may be in his gray jacket, with his hair disheveled, God knows what may be happening around you, but his whole world has narrowed down to this tiny corner with an icon and a candlestick.

— I do not know if I deserve this after everything that has happened... But can I take your hand? Will you forgive me?