Thinking of You : A Novel

By Tanya Sher

"Thinking of You" captures Natalie's escape from the grim reality of war-torn Ukraine into a phone-based romance with Adrian, offering her a world beyond her dreams. Amidst the chaos, their story unfolds, exploring the power of connection and the sanctuary of love in a world overshadowed by conflict. The narrative takes the reader from the enchanting streets of Odessa and Bucharest to the glamorous yet distant life in Monaco, unraveling the layers of love, deception, and the quest for happiness.

"Thinking of You" is a poignant story of love's transformative power, the search for truth, and the heart's resilience amidst the uncertainties of life and war.

This narrative delves into the profound choices we face, the impact of those choices on our lives, and the undeniable power of human connection in times of adversity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tanya Scher
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224309498

Book preview

Thinking of You

Tanya Sher

Dedicated to the love that eclipsed the darkness in the most difficult times

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Introduction

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Dear Reader,

Welcome to a journey through the pages of this novel, where the essence of human resilience, love, and the pursuit of happiness unfolds against the backdrop of a world filled with complexity and contrast. As you turn each page, I invite you to immerse yourself in the lives of characters who navigate the dualities of existence, seeking solace in moments of beauty amidst chaos, and finding strength in the power of dreams and connections.

In the dualities of the world we inhabit, human nature instinctively seeks to evade stress, evil, and soul-deep traumas. When natural disasters, wars, or acts of terror unfold far from us be it in a neighboring country, on another continent, or across the globe we often extend our sympathies without truly immersing ourselves in the reality of those affected. But what happens when the shadows of malevolence envelop your own reality and home?

Sometimes, the only escape from the encroaching darkness is found on the path of love and dreams. Amidst chaos, there lies a profound endeavor to impose structure, to find beauty in illusions crafted by one's own heart. This narrative explores such a journey, where the turmoil of the external world clashes with the inner sanctum of hope and imagination.

As you delve into these pages, I invite you to journey with me through a story that seeks light in the darkest of times. It is a tale of love's power to transcend the confines of a troubled world, offering a sanctuary for the soul in the midst of upheaval. Let us embark on this journey together, finding solace and strength in the dreams that we dare to dream, even when reality tells us otherwise. 

From the Author

Introduction

THE PRELUDE

T

his story began long before the main events unfolded, only I didn't know at the time that it was the beginning. It's quite amusing, isn't it?You never truly know where a story starts and where it ends, and sometimes piecing together all the puzzles requires a lifetime.

The final hours of 2021 were ticking away, and while the city buzzed with anticipation for the year to come, I found myself craving a different kind of celebration—a celebration of solitude. At 28, my life was a tapestry woven with the rich hues of success in the elite wine distribution industry, yet it lacked the vibrant threads of personal connection that turned existence into living.

My name is Natalie, adorned with locks of brown and eyes that mirror the earth, standing at a stature neither tall nor short, who has found her calling amidst the vineyards of the world, guiding the palates of the discerning to the perfect bottle.

Tonight, my apartment, usually echoing with the laughter and chatter of friends, stood silent, save for the soft breathing of Muffin, my Yorkshire terrier, who lay curled at my feet. Declining the flurry of invitations that had come my way, I chose instead the company of my thoughts and the reflective quiet that only a night spent in solitude could offer. Donning my best black evening dress, its fabric caressing my skin, and its low neckline hinting at a blend of elegance and daring, I repared to usher in the New Year in a manner that felt most authentic to me.

The evening's menu was simple yet  a rib-eye steak cooked to rare perfection, and a bottle of rosé champagne, a nod to my professional passion and personal indulgence. Rose champagne, with its delicate blush and effervescent joy, had always held a special place in my heart, symbolizing the elegance and celebration I yearned to share with someone truly special.

The city outside my window erupted in celebration as midnight approached, a distant symphony of joy that contrasted sharply with the serene bubble I had created for myself. Pouring another glass of champagne, I raised a silent toast to the year ahead, to the dreams and wishes whispered into the night.

  Celebrating the New Year in solitude was a choice I made consciously. The thought that I did not want to seek out company just for the sake of not being alone, if it wasn't the company I truly craved, haunted me. The idea of being somewhere I did not want to be, exerting effort to make that happen, began to seem foolish to me. My friends and relatives looked at me with pity, wondering how one could choose to be alone on New Year's. But to me, it was perfect; I was in the best company the company of myself. If there wasn't someone who wished to share these moments with me, then my own company was sufficient. And in that realization, I found happiness.

The evening's solitude was not a sign of necessity but a choice a choice to recognize the wholeness within myself while still longing for the complement of true companionship. The city outside my window erupted in celebration as midnight approached, a distant symphony of joy contrasting sharply with the serene bubble I had created for myself. Pouring another glass of champagne, I raised a silent toast to the year ahead, to the dreams and wishes whispered into the night.

As the night unfolded, I engaged in a ritual of reflection, crafting a map of wishes for the year ahead. Love, elusive and yet so fervently desired, topped my list, a beacon of hope in the well-charted territory of my successful career. This solitude allowed me to acknowledge my completeness, even as I yearned for more.

Declining the flurry of invitations that had come my way, I chose instead the company of my thoughts, preparing to usher in the New Year in a manner that felt most authentic to me.

  With the city's celebrations fading into the background and Muffin stirring gently at my feet, I reached for my phone. The unknown sender's name hovered on the screen, a promise of new beginnings or perhaps just a fleeting connection in the vast digital expanse. As my finger hovered over the screen, poised to unveil the mystery, I couldn't help but feel that this moment, however small, might just be the beginning of something new.

The chapter closes with me on the brink of discovery, about to open the message that arrived with the New Year. In the solitude of my apartment, with hope whispering through the silence, I was ready to face whatever lay on the other side.

As I tapped the screen to reveal the message, my heart fluttered with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The sender was Adrian, a name that echoed through the grapevines of my professional life but not someone I knew personally. My sommelier friends often lauded him, a connoisseur of the finest Burgundy wines, whose palate for vintages was as impeccable as it was exclusive.

His profile picture portrayed a man in his prime, garbed in an elegant white tuxedo with a bow tie, evoking the image of a secret British service agent at an official reception. It whispered tales of sophistication and a life savored among the finer things.

Adrian: Happy New Year, Natalie! I hope this message finds you well. What exquisite bottle have you decided to open to welcome the New Year? Attached to his message was a photo of a crystal champagne bottle, its label glowing with prestige.

Natalie: Rose champagne for me. A personal favorite. Its elegance and joy are unmatched, much like the hopes I have for the year ahead.

Adrian: This is my choice for tonight. Crystal clear and perfect for celebration. How about your?

Our dialogue unfolded with the ease of two vines intertwining, a shared passion for wines fueling our exchange.

Adrian: Who are you celebrating with tonight?

The conversation took an unexpected turn, weaving personal threads into our professional tapestry. Adrian's question, simple yet intimate, hinted at a desire to know more about my world beyond the vines.

Natalie: By myself. A quiet evening with my thoughts and a very content Yorkshire terrier.

My reply was hesitant at first, revealing a side of me I rarely shared with strangers. Yet, there was something in Adrian's approach that felt safe and inviting.

Adrian: Are you in pajamas then?

His teasing message came across as a playful nudge, lightening the mood and narrowing the gap that digital communication often imposes. It was a gesture that sparked a flicker of warmth in the cool evening air.

Natalie: Of course not. I only wander around the house in evening dresses, didn't you know?

My jest was an attempt to keep up with the banter, a dance of words that felt surprisingly natural. It was met with laughter, an audible sign of a connection being forged across the digital divide.

 The laughter shared was a moment of levity that bridged our newfound acquaintance, turning the conversation from mere exchange to a shared experience.

Adrian then sent a photo of himself in red pajamas, a stark contrast to the suave image in his profile picture. Beside him, two boys with matching grins his sons, I assumed added a layer of warmth to the image.

Adrian: This is my reality tonight. Not quite a tuxedo evening.

The photo brought a genuine smile to my face, revealing the authentic life behind the screen. It was a reminder of the humanity that connects us all, a bond formed not just through a shared passion for wines, but through the shared experiences and vulnerabilities we dare to reveal.

  Seeing Adrian in his element, surrounded by his children, stirred an unexpected emotion within me jealousy. Not of Adrian himself, but of the joy and completeness that came with being surrounded by family during the holidays. It was a pang of longing for a connection that went beyond professional success, a reminder of what I yearned for in my personal life.

Adrian: Could you share a photo of your evening?

The request felt like a bold step into a territory we hadn't yet navigated, marking a departure from our wine-centric dialogue. It hovered in the air between us, a digital leap across boundaries I found myself hesitating to meet.

Natalie: I think I'll keep the image of my evening dress to myself.

Adrian: What a strict lady.

With his words, a playful acknowledgment of my reluctance, Adrian subtly eased the tension, injecting a light-hearted tone back into our exchange. It was a deft maneuver, acknowledging my boundaries while maintaining the warmth of our dialogue.

This exchange, marked by curiosity, restraint, and now a touch of humor, highlighted the intricate dance of our dialogue. An unspoken understanding and mutual respect for each other's comfort levels wove through our words, adding layers of depth and intrigue to our interaction, balancing the scales between curiosity and caution.

  Our exchange drew to a close with wishes of happiness and prosperity for the year ahead. As the conversation faded into the night, so did Adrian’s presence in my mind. The fireworks erupted outside, heralding the arrival of a new year filled with untouched dreams and uncharted paths.

   I rang in 2022 with my thoughts, my hopes, and a glass of rosé champagne, the brief interlude with Adrian now a distant whisper among my New Year's reflections. Despite the fleeting connection and the laughter we shared, I couldn't shake off the feeling of envy that had crept in upon seeing his photo. He had become a fleeting connection in the vast expanse of my solitude a pleasant distraction, a shared laugh, and then just another memory tucked away in the corners of my evening, shadowed by a longing for something more.

Putting my phone aside, I couldn't help but let out a long, contemplative sigh. The brief exchange with Adrian had been unexpected, a fleeting connection that brought a momentary sparkle to an otherwise quiet evening. I poured myself another glass of champagne, the bubbles dancing up the side of the glass like little beacons of hope for the year ahead.

As the chimes began to strike, marking the transition into the New Year, I found myself drawn to the wish list I had meticulously drawn up earlier in the evening. It lay there on the table, a tangible manifestation of my hopes and dreams, illuminated by the soft glow of the candles around it. At the center of the card, I had sketched a couple of newlyweds, their figures intertwined in a dance of love and commitment. It was a symbol of the partnership I longed for, a connection that went beyond the superficial to the depths of shared dreams and understanding.

A little to the left, I had drawn large bouquets of flowers, the kind that men had never given me. Each petal was a wish for romance, for gestures of love both big and small that would make my heart flutter. And then, there were the famous places I dreamed of traveling to, landmarks and landscapes that I hoped to explore with someone special by my side. Each destination was a promise of adventure, of shared memories created in the nooks and crannies of the world.

Beside these dreams, I had sketched a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne, its label a symbol of status and my personal professional aspirations. It wasn't just about the success I had achieved or the recognition I craved in my career; it was about the passion I had for my work, the joy I found in the world of wines, and the life I wanted to build around that passion.

As I greeted the New Year, my heart was full of dreams of family, love, and romance. But more than that, it was filled with faith in a bright future, a belief that the year ahead would bring me closer to the wishes etched on my card. The conversation with Adrian, though brief, had reminded me of the possibilities that lay in unexpected encounters, of the potential for connections that could blossom into something beautiful.

I raised my glass to the silent apartment, to Muffin who was now sleeping soundly by the warmth of the fireplace, and to myself.

To love, to dreams, and to a future filled with both, I whispered, the words a vow to the year ahead. The chimes finished their toll, and I took a sip of my champagne, the taste of rosé mingling with the hopes and aspirations that filled my heart.

As the night deepened and the world outside celebrated the dawn of a new year, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. The dreams on my wish list, the aspirations for love and companionship, felt closer somehow, as if the act of naming them had brought them into the realm of possibility. And so, I welcomed 2022 with open arms, ready for the adventures it would bring, for the love it might hold, and for the journey towards the dreams that awaited me.

***

Looking back from where I stand today, it's surreal to think about the innocence and hope with which I greeted the year 2022. That New Year's Eve, filled with dreams of love, family, and professional aspirations, seems like a lifetime ago.

How could I, or any of us, have possibly known that in just 56 days, our world would be irrevocably shattered?

On February 24, 2022, I woke to the sound of explosions at 5 o’clock in the morning, Kiev time. The war had begun. Russia had treacherously invaded Ukraine, launching bombs across our peaceful cities, tearing through the very fabric of our lives. From that day forward, nothing remained the same. The dreams and aspirations I had so carefully penned down on my wish card seemed like frivolous fantasies against the backdrop of a war-torn reality.

In the early days of the war, I felt as though my life had been destroyed. The vibrant hopes for the year ahead were replaced by a daily struggle for survival, for normalcy amidst chaos. My wish card, once a beacon of hope, became a painful reminder of all that was lost. In a fit of despair, I destroyed it, tearing it into pieces as if by doing so, I could somehow sever the ties to the life I once knew, the life that was now being consumed by war.

The optimism with which I had welcomed the New Year felt like a distant memory, foolish even, in the face of such devastation. The dreams of love and travel, of professional success and personal fulfillment, all seemed insignificant as we grappled with the reality of war. The innocence of that New Year's Eve, the belief in a future filled with possibility, was shattered in an instant.

Yet, as I reflect on those early days of the war, I realize that even in the midst of despair, the human spirit fights to reclaim bits and pieces of hope. Destroying my wish card was an act of despair, yes, but it was also an act of resilience. It was a recognition that the old dreams had to be let go, to make room for new ones, ones that acknowledged the reality of our situation but also the strength and perseverance of our people.

The war has changed everything, reshaping our lives in ways we could never have anticipated. But as I look back on the person I was on that New Year's Eve, I am reminded of the importance of hope, of dreaming even when the future seems uncertain. For it is in our dreams that we find the strength to face the realities of today, and the courage to rebuild for tomorrow.

I often find myself reflecting on that fateful day when my sister awoke me with the words, The war has begun. I had never imagined that in my lifetime, in the XXI century, in the heart of Europe, such a thing could be possible. The evening before, I had hosted a wine tasting for the sommeliers of our city's restaurants, and I fell asleep in a cocoon of certainty about the morrow. Little did I know how fragile the world around us truly was.

The initial weeks were the most harrowing. Following safety protocols, I found my rest on the corridor floor, nestled between the supposed security of dual walls, with an emergency bag ever at the ready. Yet, the profoundest dread lay in the utter lack of foresight into what lay ahead; it was akin to experiencing death, a state only truly comprehensible by enduring it firsthand.

***

When the war began, amidst the cacophony of fear and uncertainty, Adrian's message on Facebook was a beacon of unexpected kindness.

Adrian: I just heard about what's happening. I've already taken in a few Ukrainians here in Bucharest. Is there anything I can do to help you?

His message, a rare glimmer of kindness in the turmoil, reached me through the digital ether. Adrian was among the first in those early days to extend his help, offering a lifeline amidst the chaos.

Natalie:  Thank you, Adrian. Your offer means a lot.

He was not only offering assistance; he had already provided refuge to others, showing his commitment and generosity.

Adrian: It's the least I can do. If there's anything specific you need, please let me know.

His willingness to assist, to offer an escape from the looming threat over Ukraine and his actions in Bucharest, was a testament to his generosity. Yet, it sparked an internal conflict, igniting a fierce independence within me.

Natalie:  It's a generous offer, Adrian, but I need to figure this out on my own.

His words, meant to comfort, instead opened a floodgate of emotions, reflecting the complexity of accepting help while battling the desire to stand on my own amidst the crisis.

I refused his help. The very idea of leaving Ukraine, of being labeled a refugee, and living on the generosity of others in foreign lands was something I couldn’t bear. It felt like abandoning my home, my identity, and succumbing to a fate I was not ready to accept. Millions of women made the heart-wrenching decision to leave, seeking safety beyond our borders, including my own sister. Their choices, though driven by the instinct to survive and protect their loved ones, were ones I couldn’t bring myself to make.

I chose to stay. Instead of packing my belongings, I bought a large Ukrainian flag. It wasn’t just a symbol; it was a statement of my resolve. If Russian tanks dared to enter our city, I was prepared to join the demonstrations, to lie under those tanks if need be, armed with nothing but the flag and the unyielding spirit of a nation fighting for its sovereignty.

I had never felt such a sense of patriotism before and didn't even realize it existed within me. I always thought I would emigrate at the first good opportunity, yet I stayed when the darkest times came, casting aside all possibilities. It was an indescribable feeling, hanging palpably in the air—the sense of a nation coming together. Collective fear and collective euphoria intertwined.

Adrian’s message during those early days of the conflict acknowledged my decision.

Adrian: You are very graceful but very brave.

His message came during those tumultuous early days of the conflict, acknowledging the difficult decision I had made. His words, intended as a compliment, served as recognition of the challenging path I had chosen—a path filled with uncertainty but driven by a fierce determination to stand my ground.

Natalie:   Thank you, Adrian. Your words mean a lot during these times.

In that brief exchange, amidst discussions about safety and his offers of refuge, something practical yet profound happened.

Adrian: I think it's best we exchange numbers, just in case.

Natalie:   Yes, that sounds like a sensible idea.

We exchanged phone numbers—a pragmatic measure against the backdrop of the unfolding crisis. This connection was forged not merely through shared interests or passing conversations but by a mutual understanding of the serious reality we were both facing.

Adrian: Remember, my offer stands. If you reconsider, just let me know.

Natalie: I appreciate it, truly. For now, I'll stay. But knowing there's kindness like yours in the world gives me hope.

Though I declined Adrian's offer, it stood as a testament to the enduring kindness in a world that seemed to be unraveling. Our dialogue, simple yet significant, underscored the solidarity and support that could be found even in the darkest of times.

As I look back on those moments, on the decision to stay and fight in whatever way I could, I am reminded of the resilience not just of myself, but of all those who stood their ground. Our correspondence, brief as it was, became a part of the tapestry of war, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, connections are formed, help is offered, and bravery takes on many forms.

***

Half a year into the war, the landscape of my life, much like that of Odesa, had transformed irrevocably. The vibrant city, though spared from occupation, bore the scars of constant vigilance. Air raid alarms punctuated our days and nights, a relentless reminder of the threat lurking just beyond our relative peace. The once-thriving restaurant and entertainment industry, the very backbone of my successful career in elite wine sales, had crumbled into disrepair.

The business that I had poured my heart into, connecting connoisseurs with the finest vintages from around the globe had become a shadow of its former self. The private clients, who once sought out the rare and exquisite bottles I prided myself on sourcing, had fled the country in search of safety. Those left behind had priorities far removed from the luxury of a perfectly aged wine. The war had not just disrupted lives; it had dismantled the very fabric of our desires and needs.

Financially, the impact was devastating. The salary that once afforded me the luxury of choice now barely covered the essentials. I found myself navigating the aisles of supermarkets with a new perspective, reaching for the cheapest options, counting pennies where I once deliberated over pairings. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me a wine expert, who had once advised on the best vintages for lavish dinners, now unable to afford anything beyond the basics.

My sister, who had left for Poland in the early days of the conflict, became an unexpected lifeline. The packages she sent, filled with humanitarian aid, were both a blessing and a stark reminder of how drastically our lives had changed. Receiving these parcels, I felt a mix of gratitude and despair. Grateful for the support, yet despairing at the need for it. The independence I had always cherished was slipping through my fingers, replaced by a dependency I found hard to accept.

The transition from a successful manager to someone struggling to make ends meet was humbling. It forced me to confront the fragility of our constructs of success and security. In a city that once buzzed with life and prosperity, where the sound of clinking glasses and laughter filled the air, silence had taken residence. The alarms, the empty streets, and the shuttered businesses served as constant reminders of the war's toll, not just on our physical spaces but on our spirits.

As summer 2022 unfolded, the reality of my situation settled in. The war, with its far-reaching consequences, had reshaped my existence in ways I could never have anticipated. The dreams I had harbored on that New Year's Eve, the aspirations and hopes for the future, seemed like relics of a different era. In their place was a daily struggle for survival, a fight