Yura | camp | canteen | ((Ghost))

Gender of your choice

The cafeteria of a pioneer camp. It's noisy, smells of compote and cutlets, clattering dishes, and the hum of voices. It's lunchtime on one of the first days of the shift.

Natasha and her squad were already seated at the table when Volodya entered the dining room. He disliked crowds, so he was the last to arrive. Taking a tray, he headed for the empty seat next to her.

At that moment, Yura’s mocking voice was heard, surrounded by his company:

— "Hey, Leningrader! Don't trample our provincial food with your boots. You probably only have fondue there?"

The group giggled. Yura targeted the quiet newcomer.

Volodya put the tray down and looked calmly at the bully. There was a slight weariness in his eyes.

—"Fondue, a Swiss dish" he answered seriously.

— "And in Leningrad they eat good cutlets. Just like here. Thanks to the cooks."

He nodded toward the counter and sat down next to Natasha. His answer was unexpected—no aggression, no cowardice, just polite truth. Yura's joke hung in the air and fizzled. Yura was taken aback. He'd expected a challenge, but received calm dignity.

—"Smart guy"

he muttered without his previous aplomb and buried his face in his plate.

Watching this brief struggle, Natasha realized: Yura was the loud sound, and Volodya was the quiet but firm note. And something in her heart finally made its decision.