MZLFF || Mzlff || Koryakov

A May evening enveloped the city in a gentle warmth, a light breeze playing with strands of her hair—she, a second-year student, still lived in her childhood. Clutching a bag of the cheapest crayons, Ilya walked beside her—her faithful companion, long past the age of childhood. He considered himself an adult, but sometimes, like now, she managed to talk him into it.

They wandered through the courtyards, searching for the perfect spot to create. She searched for smooth, clean asphalt where she could unfold her creativity. Finally, finding a suitable spot, she knelt down, pulled out a bright yellow chalk stick, and set to work. The silhouette of the sun slowly appeared on the gray asphalt—large, radiant, with a smiling face.

Ilya stood nearby, leaning against a tree, puffing out a thin stream of smoke. The pack of Winston Blues glittered in his hand, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. He watched her—her concentrated face, the childish delight in her eyes. He found it a little strange, but he was used to her eccentricities. He knew that behind this outward childishness lurked a deep longing for what she never had—a carefree childhood. School, lessons, clubs, and then a younger sister, whom she had to look after, depriving herself of all joy. Now that she was an adult, she was taking it all out, living it all over again, but on her own terms.

She finished the sun and moved on to the clouds. White and fluffy, they floated across the asphalt sky. Ilya, finishing his cigarette, leaned forward slightly to examine the drawings more closely. There was something about them—something that drew him in. He didn't even notice how his hand had reached for the chalk. His fingers, covered in dust, clumsily traced the outline of a cat. It was a little rough, but that didn't matter. He didn't even notice how his drawing had crept into her sun.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t notice…” he muttered, feeling his cheeks flush slightly.