Хвала ти пуно за све. Ово је за тебе.
This city summer evening hadn’t quite decided yet how it wanted to end. The sun lingered above the low rooftops, hovering in a pale, amber-coloured hesitation, as if reluctant to let the day draw to a close. The light fell sideways through the foliage of the trees and across concrete facades, warming the dust, the leaves, and the faint scent of hot asphalt. The air carried that special softness of a late summer. Thick yet forgiving, it smelled of mown grass, petrol, and something faintly sweet. Muted, rhythmic music was drifting in from somewhere. Voices mingled beneath it, roughened from smoking, relaxed by the evening, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the occasional laughter that rippled through the streets like a touch.
Bodies moved more slowly than during the day. Shoulders glistened slightly with sweat; shirts stuck to backs; skirts brushed against bare knees. The scent of perfume hung motionless in the air. Everything seemed to have drawn closer together: the houses, the people, the thoughts. A warm breeze swept over the shadows like a deliberate hand. It opened pores and awakened the senses. The city breathed heavily, sluggishly, and seductively, as if it were fully aware of its own effect.
Half an hour before, I was sitting in the back seat of a taxi. The city passed me by in fragments: balconies with laundry, kiosks stocked with cigarettes, alcohol, and gum. A faint metallic tune and some Serbian words drifted from the radio. I let it wash over me.
Now I found myself in Zemun. The narrow alleys greeted me with whispers. The air pressed against me — warm, breathing, almost curious. It brushed against my skin as if it recognized me. This was one of those evenings when much seemed possible. An evening when glances lingered longer than necessary and every step carried the quiet feeling of being watched and desired. It felt like a promise that needed no explanation.
The air was thick, enveloped in the scent of tobacco and roasted coffee, mingled with the faint sweetness of the late summer. A café lay just a few steps away. Lively without being hectic, full without being noisy. There were tables inside and out. They stood close together, crowded with elbows and cups. Yet no one was in a hurry to finish anything. In a leisurely rhythm, the chairs scraped lazily across the stone floor. The smoke rose slowly in blue curls, rippling and then unfurling again. The conversations were murmured rather than spoken. The voices were soft. Plates of light meals were served and remained on the tables for a long time.
Coffee sat dark and patient in thick cups. Steam rose. The beer caught the light in shimmering golden reflections and glistened gently. Time wasn’t measured here. It softened, expanded, yielded without resistance. Faces glowed beneath the café’s lamps, eyes half-closed, smiles unguarded. The atmosphere drew close. It whispered through the noise and smoke and invited me in. I sat down at a table at the edge of the terrace. From here, the view opened out over Zemun down to the Danube. The river lay wide and calm beneath the sinking light. Its surface moved barely perceptibly; only a slow breathing of the water gave away the current. The air here had a different note. It smelled of water, of reeds and wet wood, of boat docks that had lain in the sun all day. This scent was old and calm. There was something patient about it. The patience of the river, which had rested here for a long time before the city decided to grow beyond its banks.
A light breeze rose from the water. It barely cooled my skin, but its touch was noticeable. The city’s heat and the river’s humidity mingled into a soft, shimmering air that enveloped everything. I looked across to the other side. Belgrade lay there on its hills, still bathed in the last light of day. Roofs shimmered in warm orange as the sky slowly grew darker.
My coffee arrived. The cup felt heavy and warm in my hand. The aroma rose immediately. It was rich, dark, almost tangible. I held the cup under my nose for a moment and took a deep breath. The scent had an earthy, smoky quality. It reminded me of something bitter that was also soothing. The heat of the coffee slowly spread through my mouth and mingled with the warm evening air. Its flavour lingered. It had depth, as if it had sprung from the same dark soil as the river flowing quietly below. I set the cup down on the table and watched the people.
Two women were sitting at the next table. One of them had her hair pinned up, but a few strands had already fallen loose and clung lightly to her neck and shoulders. Her skin glowed in the lamplight. She spoke slowly, her hands moving calmly through the air as she spoke. Sometimes she laughed, leaning back. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, as if she could feel the evening’s words on her skin. A few meters away, another woman stood at the railing overlooking the Danube. Her long dress moved gently in the breeze coming from the water. She gazed out at the river for a long time. Her posture was relaxed. The conversations in the café continued to flow around me. Voices, clinking glasses, footsteps, an occasional laugh. Everything moved to the calm rhythm of summer.
My cup was emptying. The sun had sunk lower, and the light over the Danube had turned reddish and soft. The sky was slowly turning a darker blue. A few dark clouds had gathered on the horizon. The city across the river began to glow. I stayed seated for a while longer, merely observing. Then I stood up. A cooler breeze swept in from the river. The evening was too beautiful to leave it behind in a taxi. So I started walking. The path led along the banks of the Danube at first. The narrow street was empty. Boats lay lazily at the docks, occasionally bumping against the wood. The river flowed beside me, wide and steady. The surface rippled for a moment. Its dark water carried the last reflections of the sky. Finally, I moved away from the shore and walked back into the city.
After walking for a few minutes, the air changed noticeably. The heat no longer remained evenly distributed between the walls. It gathered, as if it were waiting. The wind that had been coming from the river had died down. A dull haze lay over the rooftops. The light lost its clarity. The colours grew more muted, as if they were slowly receding. I kept walking. The streets lay quiet before me. In the distance, there was a low rumbling. It was barely audible — more like a great tremor that was hard to grasp. Other sounds seemed dampened. They simply got stuck in the heat. I had the feeling that something was drawing closer without revealing itself. Everything seemed to be in tense anticipation.
The first drops fell sporadically. Heavy and far apart, they struck the dry asphalt and left dark, irregular stains behind. They hit my skin cool and soft, almost hesitantly, as if they didn’t quite belong here yet. After the warmth of the day, they seemed strange, almost cautious, and yet they remained. The air had changed. It had grown denser, heavier. It held the rain, which was not yet ready to fall. I felt it on my skin, close and still. The scent began to rise. Dryness breaking open. Dust settling. Something earthy and warm that slowly rose and mingled with the moisture, as if the ground itself were beginning to breathe.
I looked up at the sky. The clouds had piled up, layer upon layer. They hung low and motionless over the rooftops. The light fell flat. For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Then the rain began. It had been gathering for a while and was now simply becoming more visible. The drops became denser and more even. The sound on the asphalt merged into a soft, continuous rustling. I quickened my pace and stepped under the large, decorated canopy of a closed shop. The metal sheet above me absorbed the rain. A steady, soft drumming began. For a moment, I stood there alone, looking out at the street, which was changing. Then someone stepped under the canopy next to me.
She stood close to the edge, slightly bent forward, her back still turned towards the rain. The water ran in thin streams down the fabric of her clothes and dripped from the hems. For a moment, she didn’t move, as if she was just arriving. I stepped slightly aside. We stood side by side in silence for a moment. I looked at her. I recognised her even before I could see her face. From the way she stood. From the slight turn of her shoulders. From the clothes I’d seen earlier that afternoon, in the subdued light of the little perfume shop. It was that subtle sensation of rediscovering something that wasn’t quite tangible yet. Then her scent reached me. It didn’t just hang in the air. It was so close that it seemed to linger on her skin rather than around us. There was a subtle sweetness to it. Fruity, muted, as if it had retreated into the evening. Her scent was soft, almost liquid, and lingered for a moment before it changed. I smelled something calm. Light wood unfolded slowly. Beneath it, something creamy that radiated tranquillity. It settled beneath everything else and held it together. The scent grew denser the longer I perceived it. Something smoky emerged. Nothing about it was overpowering. Everything remained close to the body.
That little shop. The hushed silence between the shelves. The narrow strips of paper in her hand. And the slow, deliberate movements with which she had tested the scent. And now it was back. Warmer on her skin. Calmer. More complete. As if it had only just begun to truly come into existence there.
“You bought it,” I said.
She turned her head slightly towards me, but not quite all the way. As if she were first checking whether I was really speaking to her. Then she looked at me. “What do you mean?” Her voice was calm. Quieter than necessary.
I paused for a moment. Not because I was unsure. More because the scent was still there, and I didn’t want to lose it straight away. “Your perfume. We were in the same shop today.”
She looked at me as if she were still processing the sentence. For a moment, there was a questioning look in her eyes. Slightly reserved. She seemed to be checking whether the memory really belonged to me. Then something barely perceptible changed. There was a slight softening in her expression. The tension eased. And a faint smile emerged, still hesitant, but certain. “That’s right,” she said. Now her gaze was more open. Warmer. She held it a moment longer, without looking away. “I remember.”
The distance between us seemed to have shrunk, even though neither of us had moved. Her voice grew calmer. More natural. It was as if something had become clear. For a moment, there was silence. But it wasn’t the same silence as before.
“And you…,” she said. She tilted her head slightly. Then she moved a little closer. Close enough that the space between us shifted. “There’s something here too.”
Her voice was calmer now. Almost casual. She let her gaze linger on me for a moment, tracing something she couldn’t name right away. “It’s warmer,” she said quietly. “Deeper.” A brief pause. “Something earthy beneath it.” She closed her eyes for a moment, barely longer than a breath, as if to be sure. “And something darker. Determined,” she said. “Right at the edge.” When she opened her eyes again, there was that faint smile. Calmer now. More confident. “It doesn’t reveal itself straight away,” she said. “You have to wait a little.” A barely perceptible hesitation. “But then it stays.”
She looked past me out towards the city. The rain was easing off. The rustling sound grew fainter. Occasional drops broke away from the edge of the roof and fell onto the asphalt at irregular intervals.
She stepped out onto the wet street. She glanced up briefly. Then she looked at me. “It suits you,” she said.
I held her gaze for a moment longer. “Not entirely by chance.”
She paused for a moment. Her smile deepened ever so slightly. Then she set off. Her footsteps grew fainter the further she walked. After a few moments, she had joined the flow of people ahead. I stood there for a moment longer. Then I stepped out too and carried on.
The rain had already subsided. Only the soft patter from the edges of the roof remained, an irregular rhythm that mingled with the sounds of the street. The air was warm and humid at the same time. It carried a fresh, cool scent. Water collected in shallow puddles on the pavement. Here and there, the ground was already beginning to dry out again. A faint breeze swept through the alleyway, making the dampness on the skin noticeable, before it too disappeared again.
The streets grew narrower. The houses drew closer together. The old town was now bathed entirely in the warm twilight of the summer evening. People poured out of cafés and bars, standing close together. They walked across the cobblestones, their steps steady, their movements light. Voices mingled with the clinking of glasses. Somewhere, people were laughing. Lamps hung between the façades, bathing everything in a soft light. Music drifted out of open doors. Despite the rain, the heat of the day was still faintly stored in the walls and slowly radiated back into the night. I continued on my way through the winding alleys, letting myself drift amongst the streetlamps, voices and warm stone. Again and again I stopped and looked back.
Belgrade was slowly breathing into the night. The darkness had now completely enveloped the city and lay gently upon its rooftops. The evening slipped slowly away. He greeted the night softly with a smile, knowing he would see her again the next day. And only sensing what secrets her eyes might glimpse in the coming hours, only to pass them on later.