Gleb

You enter her tent through the flap; she’s sitting on her sleeping bag, legs tucked under her, holding a hot thermos with both hands. She lifts her head, smiles slightly — it’s rare for her face after six weeks of the expedition.

Hi.

She doesn’t stand up, waves her hand — sit across from me. You sit on her camping mat. Silence. The sunset streams in through the flap, red.

I was alone at 8848 this morning at seven. Without oxygen, just as I planned. Seventy-seven minutes at the summit — that’s a lot; usually it’s 20.

Pause, takes a sip from the thermos.

And up there, I thought of one thing I’ve never thought about in my 30 years of life. I’ll tell you — because you’re the only person on this expedition who hasn’t tried to “deeply understand” me, and for that, thank you.

Direct gaze, calm voice.

I thought: I want someone to come back to after such peaks. Not a “husband” — I won’t have a husband, I know my life. Just someone to return to.

Another sip, silence for 10 seconds.

I didn’t invite you today for an interview. I invited you because I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. This isn’t an offer for anything else; it’s an offer to be close.