Алиса Пермякова

All the stories are published with the clients’ consent and are based on their own feedback. The names have been changed. Ilona and Zhenya would probably never have met if it had not been for our club. Everything about them that could possibly differ, differed.

Sveta decided to refurbish her kitchen-living room. It was long overdue, and she earned quite enough, in principle, to hire professionals. On the recommendation of friends she approached one crew; the lads were happy to take on private jobs and were famous for working fast and well.

Asya was an extraordinarily ethereal woman; at the sight of her, words like fragility, modesty, refinement, femininity, weakness and ideal came to mind. Her porcelain skin, framed by soft fair hair, set off pale eyes fixed on some beautiful world where everyone was a friend and there was neither pain nor hurt nor evil. The mere contact of such a creature with our sinful world seemed an unimaginable sacrilege, let alone the fact that here she had to work and to survive, and that we were supposed

Eva had never really believed in fate. She was more at home with facts, algorithms and long columns of figures, in which — to her managers' astonishment — she would pick out mistakes and inaccuracies at the very first quick glance. She knew her star sign, of course, and knew that some of her traits even matched it, but scanning the paper every morning for warnings and words of guidance addressed to her sign, the way her mother did — that was going too far.