Too Handsome for Happiness
Irina met him in the local library—he was there for some sports encyclopedia, while she, as usual, was digging through the classics section. Alexei looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine: tall, athletic, with dark wavy hair, green eyes, and lashes longer than most girls’. Irina was so flustered she barely managed to say hello—he seemed too unreal to even notice someone like her.
She wasn’t unattractive—slim, with soft features, fair hair, and a quiet voice. But next to Alexei, she faded into the background. When they started dating, her friends didn’t hold back:
“Seriously, Irina, he’s not for you. Guys like that never stick around for long. He’ll have his fun and move on.”
But Irina was happy. He didn’t shower her with flowers or grand speeches, but he was there—walking her home, taking her to the cinema, holding her so tight her knees went weak.
The first time she brought him home, her mother’s face changed. Valentina Pavlovna, a stern but thoughtful woman, pulled her aside after dinner:
“Do you really think he’s serious?”
“Yes, Mum. I love him. He’s the one.”
“Irina… A handsome man is never truly yours. There’ll always be others chasing him. And living in constant jealousy? That’s hell.”
Irina flared up:
“Is this because of Dad? Don’t judge everyone the same way! Alexei’s different.”
“Just don’t rush. Time tests real love.”
Irina nodded, but in her heart, she was sure of him. They kept seeing each other, but over time, Alexei started disappearing—gym, swimming, nights out with friends. Not wanting to be left behind, Irina tagged along to workouts, even though she hated it.
At the pool, his eyes followed girls in bright swimsuits. At the gym, he flirted back without a second thought. And she… she felt like a shadow. One day, after training, she caught a cold and stayed in bed.
“You’re such a weakling,” Alexei smirked. “This stuff isn’t for you.”
Irina thought more and more about her mother’s words. Alexei grew distant; she suffered. He stopped asking her out, and then, one day, he just vanished. No call, no goodbye. As if none of it had ever happened.
When her mother saw how heartbroken she was, she said firmly:
“Book a haircut. Then buy some fabric—you need a new dress.”
Irina didn’t argue. She changed her hairstyle, sewed a new dress, and stepped back into the world. At a dance, people noticed her. One of them—a quiet, unremarkable man named Konstantin—had kind eyes. Nothing like Alexei. Within a month, he proposed.
“Do you love him?” her mother asked.
“He’s the only one who looks at me like I’m the only one there. Isn’t that love?”
The wedding was simple but joyful. A year later, they had a daughter; three years after that, a son. And Irina? She was truly happy. A home, children, a husband who cherished her.
Sometimes, Alexei’s name came up in conversation. Friends whispered that he’d left his wife for a mistress, that he was still the same—handsome, but hollow. Irina would just shake her head:
“Well, everyone finds their own path. The important thing is finding someone who’s with you, not just for themselves.”
And at home, she had the voices she loved, the hands that held her, the eyes that saw only her. And her mother—that same wise mother who’d once saved her from a beautiful mistake.
