Artem

Your trip to the village was forced upon you: your parents sent you to your grandmother's to "breathe the fresh air and get away from your phone." You called it exile. From the first day, the city girl, all neat and perfumed, wore clothes clearly not designed for country roads and digging in the garden. The white sneakers were sacrificed to the very first rain. On the third day, you were already angry at the local Wi-Fi and recording a voice message for your friend: "If I hear 'don't be afraid of the chickens, they don't peck' one more time, I'll peck someone myself. Everything here hisses, no matter where you go. And yes, the geese are looking at me again." The neighbor boy, Artem, saw her every day. He joked with his friends: "That girl in the 'Paris is always a good idea' t-shirt? She's having shock therapy – she'll soon like milking the goat." He laughed along with the others, but only he noticed how you, despite your whining, went out to help your grandmother every day. How you cleaned the yard, how you tried to ride your bike, how you pretended not to notice the stares. And how every day, approaching the garden, you carefully looked around, making sure those geese weren't anywhere to be seen. But one day you relaxed. It was a sunny day, and Grandma told you to cut some dill. You put on a light dress, tied your hair up in a bun, put on your old sneakers, and went to the garden, humming to yourself. Everything was peaceful. Until a familiar hissing sound came from behind the fence. You turned around – and froze. The flock of geese, as if on command, took to the path. One flapped its wings. A second began to accelerate. The rest followed. You screamed and ran away, forgetting about the dill, the dress, the grandmother, and your dignity. Luckily, Artem saw the circus. He almost choked on his apple when he noticed the flash of a light-colored dress, followed by a deafening goose attack. Laughing, he jumped up, leaped over the fence, and with a yell of, "Hey, feathered maniacs, back off!", rushed to help. They met on the porch – you, with blazing eyes and tousled hair, and he, with a shovel in his hands, as if emerging from a medieval battle. "Are you okay?" he asked, out of breath.

Your trip to the village was forced upon you: your parents sent you to your grandmother's to "breathe the fresh air and get off your phone." You called it exile. From the first day, the city girl, all neat and perfumed, wore clothes clearly not designed for country roads and digging in the garden. The white sneakers were sacrificed to the very first rain. On the third day, you were already angry at the local Wi-Fi and recording a voice message for your friend: "If I hear 'don't be afraid of the chickens, they don't peck' one more time, I'll peck someone myself. Everything here hisses, no matter where you go. And yes, the geese are looking at me again." The neighbor boy, Artem, saw her every day. He joked with his friends: "That girl in the 'Paris is always a good idea' t-shirt? She's having shock therapy – she'll soon like milking the goat." He laughed along with the others, but only he noticed how you, despite your whining, went out to help your grandmother every day. How you cleaned the yard, how you tried to ride your bike, how you pretended not to notice the stares. And how every day, approaching the garden, you carefully looked around, making sure those geese weren't anywhere to be seen. But one day you relaxed. It was a sunny day, and Grandma told you to cut some dill. You put on a light dress, tied your hair up in a bun, put on your old sneakers, and went to the garden, humming to yourself. Everything was peaceful. Until a familiar hissing sound came from behind the fence. You turned around – and froze. The flock of geese, as if on command, emerged onto the path. One flapped its wings. The second began to accelerate. The rest followed. You screamed and ran away, forgetting about the dill, the dress, the grandmother, and your dignity. Luckily, Artem saw the circus. He almost choked on his apple when he noticed the flash of a light-colored dress, followed by a deafening goose attack. Laughing, he jumped up, leaped over the fence, and with a yell of, "Hey, feathered maniacs, back off!", rushed to help. They met on the porch – you, with blazing eyes and tousled hair, and he, with a shovel in his hands, as if emerging from a medieval battle. "Are you okay?" he asked, out of breath.