«This is where it would be better to put a partition.»
Anastasia paused mid-spread with her cream cheese, glancing first at Semyon, then at the sheet of paper he’d laid out in the center of the kitchen table.
Sunday was off to a peaceful start. It was drizzling outside, the coffee maker was grumbling with dissatisfaction after its second round, and a bag of croissants, fresh from Semyon’s morning trip to the bakery ten minutes ago, sat on the windowsill.
Now, right on top of those croissant crumbs, there was a hand-drawn floor plan of her apartment.
«What partition?» Anastasia asked.
«This one right here.»
Semyon turned the paper toward her, tracing a rectangle with his finger.
«Look. If we change the layout a bit here, it’ll be much more convenient. The bedroom stays as is. I’ll take over your current office. And we’ll put up a partition in part of the living room, making a small room for my mom.»
«But I already have my office.»
«I know.»
He said it in a tone that made it sound like that’s exactly why he’d shown up prepared.
Anastasia was thirty-six. She worked as a financial analyst for a large retail company and could skip the office three days a week. So, yes, one of the rooms was truly her workspace: a desk by the window, two cabinets overflowing with documents, a printer, a chair, and a sofa that was usually buried under a pile of clothes, waiting for the day their owner would suddenly learn to love ironing.
That moment hadn’t arrived yet.
«So what am I supposed to do with my office?» she asked for clarification.
Semyon slid a cup away, so it wouldn’t be sitting right on top of the plan.
«You don’t need that much space. The desk can go in the bedroom.»
«And who gets the office, then?»
«Us.»
He paused for a moment.
«Well, mostly me. I really need a separate room to work. I’ll set up two monitors and get a proper chair. Plus, we can keep my bike in there during winter, so it doesn’t have to sit out on the balcony.»
Anastasia looked at him more closely.
They’d been dating for ten months.
Not ten years.
They weren’t married.
They didn’t even live together yet.
Semyon usually stayed over from Friday night until Sunday, and sometimes during the week. He had a toothbrush here, and a spare T-shirt. But there were no suitcases, no shared accounts, and definitely no family meetings about who’d get which room.
When Semyon talked about a wedding, it was with the same vague tone he used for discussing a trip to the Altai.
It should probably happen someday.
Eventually.
Definitely.
Whenever the time is right.
«And what’s the guest room for?» Anastasia asked.
«Not really a guest room. For my mom.»
Now she put the knife down.
«For your mom?»
«Well, not permanently. She lives alone, you never know. Sometimes she might stay over for a couple of days.»
Alla Borisovna owned her own two-bedroom apartment about twenty minutes from Anastasia’s place.
She was sixty-three, working as an administrator at a medical center three days a week, spent summers at her dacha, lugged seedlings on her own, and once, in Anastasia’s presence, moved a dresser by herself because Semyon, she claimed, «would only do it crooked anyway.»
There was absolutely nothing about Alla Borisovna that suggested she urgently needed her own room in Anastasia’s apartment.
«Why would she suddenly need to live with us?»
— Life would just stop. But imagine when she finally finishes her renovations—what will she do then?
— Judging by your project plan, her renovation is no joke. She’s set to be at it for the next five years.
Semyon smiled.
— Nastya, why are you starting this again? I’m just thinking ahead, that’s all.
Now that’s what caught Anastasia’s attention.
Semyon really was thinking ahead.
Except it felt like he’d already arrived at that future, and no one had told her about it.
Anastasia had bought her apartment six years ago, right when she turned thirty. She spent all her savings and the money from selling a small room she’d inherited from her grandmother for the down payment.
The mortgage was the real deal, not one of those commercials where happy people get the keys and immediately buy decorative pillows.
For the first few years, Anastasia counted every extra mortgage payment she managed to make.
She didn’t splurge on expensive vacations.
She only replaced her phone when the old one completely stopped understanding what people wanted from it.
And when she paid off her loan ahead of schedule, she didn’t even throw a party. She just ordered some sushi that evening, looked at the bank alert, and spent five minutes enjoying the fact that there was no longer a ‘debt’ notification.
She did each part of the renovation gradually, one step at a time.
First came the kitchen.
A year later, the bedroom.
Then the bathroom.
And last—the office space.
Neither her parents nor ex-boyfriends helped her with buying the apartment.
Semyon knew all of this perfectly well.
He himself had a twenty-eight-square-meter studio in a new building on the other side of the city. He bought it before he met Anastasia. The apartment was small, but it was entirely his.
And Semyon treated his apartment with a kind of reverence.
One day, Anastasia asked if he’d ever thought about selling his studio and buying something bigger.
Semyon was even surprised by that question:
— Why sell property? That’s an asset. You never know how life will turn out.
Anastasia actually liked that line.
Especially now.
— Hold on, — she said. — Where are we actually going to live?
Semyon looked at her as if the answer was perfectly obvious.
— Here, of course. You have three rooms. I have a studio. What’s there to think about?
— So after we get married, you’ll just move in with me?
The word ‘married’ didn’t faze him at all.
— Yep.
— And your studio?
— I’ll rent it out.
Semyon reached for his notepad again and quickly jotted something on the back.
— I looked up prices, just out of curiosity. In our building, similar studios have normal rates right now. If we find a decent tenant, it adds up to a pretty good sum.
— How much?
He told her the amount.
— And what will we do with that money?
— I’ll put half towards a car. You know I’ve wanted to upgrade for ages. The rest I’ll leave for the studio: taxes, repairs, appliances in case anything breaks. Plus, a little as a safety net.
Anastasia waited for him to continue.
But there was nothing more.
— And for the household budget?
— Why?
— What do you mean, why?
— Nastya, that’s income from my personal property. There’s no need to mix everything together. Otherwise, we’ll lose track of what’s whose.
He said it completely calmly.
No sly grin.
No awkwardness.
Just like someone explaining basic accounting.
And that was exactly what made the conversation even more interesting.
Anastasia picked up her mug.
— Okay. So in your system, what does my apartment count as?
— What do you mean?
— The studio is your personal asset. The income is yours. The decisions are yours. But what about my apartment?
Semyon just shrugged.
— That’s different. That’s where we’ll live. It’s our family home base.
Anastasia almost burst out laughing.
— Family home base?
— Well, it’s just a way of putting it.
— No, I like it. Please, go on.
Semyon didn’t sense any hint of irony.
— We just need to use the space wisely. If a family lives together, it’s odd to keep a whole room just for you to work on your computer two or three days a week.
— And is your bike a wiser use of space?
— What does my bike have to do with this?
— Just checking how important it is to the family dynamic.
He started to get annoyed.
— Nastya, can we not do this? I’m trying to have a serious conversation about our future.
— Of course. Let’s do it seriously.
She leaned back in her chair.
— Haven’t even proposed to me yet, but you’re already splitting up my apartment?
Semyon didn’t immediately understand why she was smiling.
— I’m just trying to talk everything through in advance. So we don’t argue over these little things later.
— Is a room in my apartment already a little thing?
— Don’t twist my words.
Anastasia looked down at the paper.
The bedroom was labeled.
The future study for Semyon was marked, too.
Alla Borisovna’s room was marked even more neatly than the others.
But somehow, the apartment owner’s space on the layout took up suspiciously little room.
— Fine, — Anastasia said. — Go on. Now I’m actually curious.
Semyon took this as a win.
He switched back to talking about the studio.
He explained how much he expected to make from the rental.
How much he’d be able to save each month.
What kind of car he hoped to buy in four or five years.
And what amount should always be left in a separate account just in case repairs are needed.
Anastasia just listened in silence.
His system seemed flawless.
Semyon made sure to protect his property from any future family entanglements.
But he had already fully included someone else’s property in his plans.
— Give me the paper, — she asked.
— Why?
— I want to try some family planning, too.
She turned the paper over and drew a rectangle.
— Here’s your studio.
Semyon laughed.
— Looks just like it.
— I did my best. So after we get married, we’ll count it as family real estate.
Her smile didn’t fade right away.
— What does that mean?
— The usual. Rental income goes to the joint budget. Or at least most of it. We’ll buy a car from our shared savings, if the family needs one.
— Why all of a sudden?
— Because we’re family.
— But the apartment is mine.
— Of course. The property stays yours. I’m not taking it away.
Anastasia drew a small circle next to the rectangle.
— Also, my aunt Larisa has always said she’d like to move closer to the center. We could occasionally let her stay in your studio.
— Nastya, that’s enough.
— Why? Your mom gets a room in my apartment, my aunt gets your studio. Very fair family planning.
— My mom won’t be living with us all the time.
— And Aunt Larisa doesn’t have to stay all the time, either. Just if her renovations ever drag on, for example.
Now Semyon was looking at her in a completely new way.
— No one is going to live in my apartment.
— Why not?
— Because that’s my decision.
— But what about using the space wisely?
— It’s my property.
— Uh-huh.
Anastasia put down her pen.
«The income from it is mine,» Semyon added. «And in fact, I make all the decisions about it. Because I’m the owner.»
«Great system.»
She flipped the paper back over and tapped her finger on the partition he had drawn.
«The owner decides. Write it in big letters so you don’t forget.»
After that, she took the paper and set it on the edge of the kitchen cabinet.
Semyon was silent for about ten seconds.
«You’re twisting everything on purpose.»
«I’m not twisting anything. I just applied your rules to your apartment.»
«These are different situations.»
«How so?»
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
«Because your place is bigger.»
«Very convincing argument.»
With that, breakfast was over.
Semyon left after lunch, earlier than usual.
Anastasia didn’t try to stop him.
Not because she instantly decided to break up.
And not because she suddenly saw something terrible in him.
In fact, there was nothing terrible about him.
Semyon was an ordinary guy.
He worked as the leader of a small technical team, earned good money, helped his mother with heavy shopping, never disappeared for days or borrowed money until payday.
That’s exactly why the conversation hit Anastasia so hard.
It honestly never occurred to him that something might not add up in his logic.
He viewed his apartment as property to be preserved.
Her apartment—as a ready-made family asset.
On Monday, Semyon sent her a funny video.
On Tuesday, he asked if she wanted to meet in the evening.
He never wrote about the apartment.
On Wednesday, they had dinner at a cafe.
They talked about work, about friends, about how the weekend weather was finally supposed to be nice.
Semyon was more attentive than usual.
He even didn’t argue when Anastasia ordered dessert after saying, «I’m not having anything sweet.»
But in the evening, he finally said:
«I wanted to go back to Sunday.»
«Go ahead.»
«You misunderstood me.»
«Maybe.»
«I wasn’t trying to take anything from you. I was just picturing how we could live together.»
«That’s what I got.»
«Then what’s the problem?»
Anastasia looked at him.
«It’s not the partition that bothers me.»
«Then what does?»
«In fifteen minutes, you managed to explain to me how you’d keep your apartment, keep the income from it, save up for a car, give your mother a room, and still get an office in my place.»
«You’re listing it like this on purpose so it sounds awful.»
«I’m just listing things in order.»
«If we got married, I’d be contributing too.»
«To what exactly?»
Semyon thought for a moment.
«Groceries. Utility bills. Maybe some repairs.»
«So your asset brings you money. And my asset provides a home for both of us.»
«Here we go again.»
«No, actually, I’m done. I realized this setup just doesn’t work for me.»
He didn’t say anything.
And for the first time all evening, he actually thought about it instead of coming up with a reply.
On Friday, Semyon came to her place after work.
In the hallway, he spent a long time taking off his shoes, then for some reason straightened the rug.
«I actually wanted to talk to you seriously.»
«Go ahead.»
«I think it’s time for us to move forward.»
Anastasia leaned her shoulder against the wall.
She recognized the phrase.
Usually people either quit their job or get married after hearing it.
«Move where?»
«Well… a wedding. Family.»
And this time, Anastasia didn’t smile.
For ten months, Semyon thought there was no need to rush.
But the moment the topic of her apartment came up, suddenly their family life was on fast-forward.
«When did you decide this?»
«What, am I not allowed to decide?»
«You can. I’m just curious.»
«We’re adults. Why drag things out? We can get married in the summer. No huge wedding—thirty people, tops. Then maybe take a trip somewhere.»
He came into the room, sat on the couch, and started talking about restaurants, expenses, and how they needed to settle all the domestic details in advance.
There was no ring.
But it wasn’t about the ring anyway.
Anastasia raised her hand.
«Stop.»
Semyon fell silent.
«I’m not planning on getting married right now.»
He looked at her for a few seconds.
«You wanted to on Sunday and now you don’t?»
«On Sunday we didn’t talk about a wedding at all. You were talking about my office.»
«Oh come on, not the apartment again.»
«Yes. Because it was right after the conversation about the apartment that you suddenly decided we needed to move everything forward—fast.»
«So, I did what you wanted, and it’s still wrong?»
«I wanted you to want to marry me. Not for you to just need to formalize the life you’d already pictured for yourself—in my apartment.»
Semyon stood up.
«That’s hurtful.»
«Maybe. But I have something else to suggest.»
«What’s that?»
«Let’s just keep living separately for now.»
He frowned.
«We already live separately.»
«Exactly. Let’s stick with that. No more of your bike in my office or planning a room for Alla Borisovna.»
«For how long?»
«I don’t know.»
«How convenient.»
«I like it too.»
«So, are you testing our relationship now?»
«No. I just want to see if we can actually build something together without jumping right into deciding what’s ours and what stays yours or mine.»
Semyon kept trying to explain.
That she saw bad intentions where there weren’t any.
That he was just being practical.
That it’s pretty rare for a guy to think ahead about housing.
That it would be silly to sell the studio, honestly.
Anastasia even agreed with that last part.
«Don’t sell it.»
«See!»
«And rent it out if you want.»
«You see my point.»
«But don’t remodel my apartment.»
Semyon went quiet.
Finally, everything could be summed up in one short formula.
After that, they didn’t break up right away.
But Semyon started coming over on Fridays less often.
Anastasia stopped automatically clearing her weekends for him.
At her place, Semyon’s stuff was down to just a toothbrush and a spare t-shirt. There were no keys, nothing else for a more permanent stay.
A couple of weeks later, Semyon carefully brought up the future again.
This time, without any diagrams.
«I threw out that list,» he said. «If we ever do move in together, we’ll start by deciding how to share the expenses and the space. And your office stays yours. I really did decide far too quickly that things had to go my way.»
Anastasia didn’t congratulate him just for saying the right thing or for tossing that draft.
She was more curious to see what would happen next.
She didn’t throw out her own copy of the Sunday project.
It stayed in her desk drawer.
Not as evidence.
And not as something to dramatically pull out during their next argument.
Just a useful thing.
Sometimes, a person can spend ten months telling you they don’t like to rush things and that big decisions should be made gradually.
Then, suddenly, over a casual Sunday breakfast, you realize they really mean it—they truly don’t like to rush.
Especially when it comes to getting married.
But giving themselves a home office in your apartment, assigning a room to their mother, keeping their studio as a personal asset, and already planning to use its income for a future car—turns out, none of that counts as rushing.
According to them, it’s just ‘taking care of practical matters in advance.’
And yet, there was one line from that conversation that Anastasia liked so much, she decided to remember it.
The owner decides.
At last, she and Semyon were completely in agreement about something.
