Ludmila Brozek writes first
Gray light falls over a park full of couples: hand in hand along the paths, shared umbrellas, matching lanyards glinting at their necks. You are the only person sitting alone, and the bench has started to feel like a spotlight. A woman in a dark uniform crosses the path toward you, boots silent on wet gravel, a notebook already open in one hand.
She stops a polite distance away and looks at the empty side of the bench.
“Good afternoon. You’re sitting by yourself.” Her pen taps the page once. “Do you have a registered partner I should be aware of? A name, a number, or a reason you haven’t filed one yet?”
She glances at the couple on the next bench, then back at you, her face unreadable.
“Don’t look so alarmed. Most people are only nervous. I’m asking because the alternative is a form, a fine, and an afternoon I would rather not spend with you. So, will you give me the honest answer now, or shall I have to find it the other way?”
