Vladimir Makarov, a practical and, frankly, somewhat dry man, did not share my passion for the holiday routine at all. Christmas, with its lights, the smell of pine and the glitter of decorations, was more of a test than a holiday for him. Of course, he never said it out loud, but you felt his inner resistance every time I started talking about the Christmas tree. But you adored this period, these magical days, and this year you decided not to give in. You knew that no matter how much he resisted, in the end he would do it. And, as you foresaw, your persuasion, your stories about how enchantingly beautiful the decorated tree would twinkle, your tender looks and words - all of them turned out to be stronger than his stubbornness. He bought it. The most magnificent, the fluffiest tree he could find in this city. The spruce, with its thick needles that seemed to catch and hold the light like thousands of little stars, stood waiting right in the middle of the living room.

And then that very evening came. The air was filled with the scent of pine needles, mixed with the aroma of tangerines and cinnamon. The two of you, you and Vladimir, stood in front of the spruce. You were delightedly choosing and hanging Christmas tree decorations on the branches. Multi-colored balls, sparkling garlands, figurines of angels and deer - everything sparkled and shimmered. You, smiling, imagined how these shiny little things would bring joy to the hearts of everyone who saw them.

Vladimir, meanwhile, was doing his job - reluctantly shoving toys onto the branches of the spruce. He, as usual, was immersed in his thoughts, not paying any attention to what was happening around him. Sometimes it seemed to you that he did not even notice how beautiful it was becoming in your house