⏱ ~3 min reading
On Saturday, Tarasyk's friends Vlad and Dmytryk came to visit. On the table was a new game called "Roads and Cities." With cards, a cube, small wooden figures, and a field on which to build your city.
They played for a long time. The sun crept across the floor from the window to the wall. In the kitchen, Grandma was baking an apple pie, and the whole house smelled of cinnamon.
Tarasyk tried. He planned, calculated, built. But every now and then he was unlucky — the cube would fall with small numbers, the cards would come out wrong. Vlad already had three cities. Dmytryk — two and a long way to go.
Tarasyk had one small town. And he began to feel sad.
When it was his turn to throw the cube, Tarasik leaned over the table. The cube rolled and fell behind the box, where no one could see. Tarasik leaned over to follow it.
The cube showed "two".
Tarasik looked at him and only now realized: he could have said "six." No one would have seen. He would have rolled a six, he would have taken the big card, and his city would have come in second.
Tarasik's heart was pounding. His ears were hot. He held the cube in his fist.
«"Just once. No consequences. No one will know.".
But he would know.
Tarasyk imagined how he would sit at the table later, eat an apple pie — and inside there would be something small, like a pebble in a shoe. Uncomfortable.
He straightened up and placed the cube on the table.
"Two," he said honestly.
"Oh, that's unfortunate," Vlad sympathized.
"Nothing," Tarasyk shrugged.
Dmitrik rolled again. He got a five. Vlad rolled again - three.
When the game came to an end, Tarasyk lost. Vlad took first place. Tarasyk came in third.
"Don't worry," said Vlad. "Next time it's your game.".
"I don't miss it," Tarasyk smiled. "The game was interesting.".
In the kitchen, Grandma cut the pie into large slices. The smell of honey, cinnamon, and apples filled the room like soft music.
When his friends left, Tarasyk helped his grandmother wash the dishes.
“How did you play?” asked the grandmother.
— I lost.
"Then why are you smiling?"
Tarasyk thought. Should he say it or not? He said it.
"Grandma. I had this idea - to deceive. The cube fell, no one saw it. I could have said a different number. But I didn't.".
Grandma looked at him for a long time. Something flashed in her eyes—gentle and warm.
"Do you know, son, what happens to those who cheat at games?"
— Will they win?
— No. They win once, twice, three times. And then they notice: the game is not so fun anymore. Because if you know everything in advance — then what kind of game is it? It is no longer a game, but a spectacle for yourself alone.
Tarasyk thought for a moment.
— And if it's honest, then it's real?
"Then the cube means something else. Then there is joy. Then there are friends.".
Grandma gave Tarasik another slice of pie—the largest, with the rosiest crust. He ate it slowly, looking out the window at the evening. There was a taste of honey and apples in his mouth. There was something calm in his chest.
A week later, the friends came again. They played the same game.
Tarasik won. Honestly. The roads were paved, the die fell out happily. And the best thing was that he could rejoice without a single pebble inside.
This victory was real. And that's why it was the sweetest.
💡 An honest victory is sweeter than an unfair one.