— I don’t know, — Anna answered honestly. — I applied to the pedagogical institute. I wanted to become a language and literature teacher. But now… Now I’m not sure. Maybe I should try something else.
— You have time to think, — Roman said gently. — And know this: whatever you choose, I will support you. If you want to study in the capital, we’ll help with admission. If you want to stay home, that’s fine too. The main thing is that you’re happy.
After lunch, they went to the theater. Roman had a rehearsal for a new play, and he wanted to introduce his daughter to the cast.
— Just don’t be nervous, — he said on the way. — Actors are simple and kind people. They will be happy to see you.
The theater made an indelible impression on Anna. A beautiful old building, a luxurious lobby with marble columns, portraits of great actors on the walls. And when they entered the auditorium, her breath caught: red velvet seats, a huge stage, a painted ceiling.
— Beautiful, isn’t it? — Roman smiled, noticing his daughter’s admiration. — I’ve been working here for 10 years, but I still admire this beauty every day.
A rehearsal was underway on stage. Actors in casual clothes were reading the script, the director’s assistant was taking notes in a notepad, and the lighting designer was adjusting the lights.
— Everyone, I’d like you to meet someone, — Roman said, stepping onto the stage. — This is my daughter, Anna.
Anna felt her cheeks flush. The word “daughter” sounded unfamiliar, but so warm and proud coming from her father’s lips.
The lead actress of the theater, a beautiful woman in her forties in a silver dress, approached them:
— Meet Roman’s daughter, — Natalia Vaschenko, — she introduced herself. — It’s a great pleasure to meet you. Roman has told us so much about you. You really look very much alike.
— Yes, — agreed an elderly actor with a noble face. — The same lips, the same smile.
Anna shyly greeted the actors. They were very friendly, asked about her life, joked, and told interesting stories from the theater world.
— Have you ever thought about trying your hand at theater? — Natalia asked. — You have a very expressive face, a pleasant voice. And most importantly, you have something special—a magnetism.
— I’ve never thought about it, — Anna replied shyly.
— You should. In our profession, the main thing is not education, but talent and desire. Education can be acquired, but talent is a gift from above.
After the rehearsal, Roman showed Anna the “backstage” of the theater: the costume rooms, dressing rooms, and set design workshops. She looked with interest at the costumes, wigs, and theatrical props.
— It’s a whole world, — she said. — So complex and interesting.
— Yes, the theater is a special universe, — her father agreed. — Here, beauty is created, here people experience real emotions. It’s a very important job—to help people think, feel, and become better.
In the evening, they had dinner at the apartment. Roman cooked himself—it turned out he was a pretty good cook. “I had to learn,” he laughed, stirring something in a pan. “When you live alone, you inevitably become self-sufficient.”
Over dinner, they talked about the past, the future, about life. Roman spoke of his plans for the new theater season, the plays he wanted to direct. Anna shared her doubts about her choice of profession.
— You know, — Roman said, — I think your mother wouldn’t have been against you choosing the theater. She herself loved art very much, often went to plays, read plays.
— Really?
— Of course! We met precisely because of our shared love for the theater. And she always said that the most important thing in life is to find your calling.
Late that evening, Anna lay in her room, unable to sleep. The day had been so eventful and emotional that she needed time to process everything. Her father turned out to be exactly as she had imagined him from his letters: kind, talented, and sincerely repentant of his mistakes.
“Mom,” she thought, looking at the ceiling, “you were right. He is a good man. And I understand why you loved him.”
Sunday morning began with breakfast on the terrace. Roman lived on the top floor, and the terrace offered a beautiful view of the old capital: red roofs, golden domes of churches, green parks.
— I have coffee here every morning, — he said, pouring his daughter a glass of freshly squeezed juice. — And I think about you and your mother. I imagine how we would have breakfast here together, the three of us, if things had turned out differently.
— Do you regret what happened? — Anna asked.
— Every day. But you know what I’ve realized over the years? You can’t live in the past. What matters is what we have now. And now I have you—the most precious thing there can be.
After breakfast, they went for a walk in the city center. Roman showed his daughter his favorite places: small cafes, antique shops, art galleries. One of the galleries was hosting an exhibition of theatrical photographs, and in several pictures, Anna saw her father—young, passionate about his work.
— That was about 15 years ago, — he said, looking at a photo. — I was directing ‘Hamlet’ then. One of my favorite plays.
— You haven’t changed, — Anna smiled. — Just as passionate about your work.
— The theater keeps the soul young, — Roman replied. — When you work with art, you don’t age on the inside.
In one of the bookstores, they bought several plays by contemporary playwrights that Roman recommended for his daughter to read.
— If you decide to connect your life with the theater, start with this, — he said. — A good play is the foundation of a performance….
