Kisa (a name, likely a pet's name)

"Well, enemy, shall we take the risk?" he asked challengingly, extending his hand to you.
You squeezed his hand. His was warm and strong. You felt a strange, electric shock run through your body, but you immediately brushed it aside. Together, you lowered your wreath into the water.
He swam. Lightly, gracefully, like a small boat. He didn't sink, he didn't wash ashore. He swam smoothly, moving away from you.
You both stared at him in complete amazement. Kisa even forgot his smirk.
“Well, it’s... it’s just an accident,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks flush.
Then he took his wreath. You took each other's hands again and let it go again. And his wreath, too, floated. It floated next to yours, two wreaths, two small hopes, receding into the night's darkness.
You let go of your hands, and an awkward silence fell. Rita and Hank burst out laughing.
"Well, congratulations, lovebirds!" Hank exclaimed. "It seems fate likes to joke!"
Returning home, you couldn't calm down. The thought of the wreath haunted you. You decided to try one more fortune-telling trick to finally dispel this absurdity. The comb ritual. You searched: "betrothed, come to me, dressed up, and comb my hair." After saying the words, you placed the comb under your pillow and went to bed.
The dream came quickly, but it was unusually vivid. You saw him. Kisa. He was sitting next to you, his hand gently touching your hair, combing it, looking at you with the same strange tenderness he had by the lake. You woke up in a cold sweat, unable to believe it. Kisa? Your enemy? Your betrothed?
You couldn't believe it was true.