Respected.
He worked at an electrical-parts factory, and everyone said that with him I would have a secure life.
“Georgi is a family man,” my mother used to say.
“Not like that Todor, who is always dreaming and never knows where he’ll be next month.”
Todor was a geologist.
He traveled a lot. He worked on surveys in the Rhodopes, the Balkan Mountains, near Madan and Kardzhali. He would appear for a few weeks, then disappear again with a backpack, maps, and that look in his eyes that made a person believe the world was bigger than anything they knew.
I loved him.
Not quietly.
Not reasonably.
I loved him the way only young people love when they still don’t know the price of a choice.
He wanted to marry me.
He said he would find work closer to Tarnovo. That we would build our life together.
But my father was against him.
