It's an exciting time. After the most recent government upheaval, the Russians are releasing the ban on arts. Isn't to create art an innate human ability? With Kostomarov's words ringing true, word spread and his class was always overcrowded with students. Of course, I always positioned myself within his line of sight, and after a few sessions, his gaze rested on me more often than not. It was a matter of time before he signaled to see me after class.
"Miss von Dietrich," he enunciated with a slight Russian accent, "I can't seem to find you on my student roster, yet here you are everyday. I'm most certain Professor Ivanovich would be quite disappointed you haven't been attending his dissection courses."
"Professor, who couldn't resist hearing your dissertations on the influence of the Russian motherland on Ukraine's blossoming architecture, political structure, and the arts? Because of you, there are now three new poets living in my dormitory!" The look upon my face must have been convincing enough for him not to laugh me off like any other male.
He smiled then, his slightly crooked teeth peeking out behind his lips. For a man 20 years my senior, he still gave me the same respect that he would give his male peers. "Come, Miss von Dietrich, I need someone to help translate a Shevchenko poem. Care to join me for tea?"
And that is how we became inseparable. Me, completely smitten by the prospect of free thought, new ideas, and he, fancying the whims of young woman in a time that ideas were still new.
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