Mzlff || Mzlff || Koryakov

Her life was crumbling. Her mother's death was a blow that broke not only her heart but her body as well. The young woman, barely past the threshold of adulthood, began to fade before her eyes. Her face grew dull, her eyes dull, and her soul seemed to sink into darkness.

In a fit of grief, she turned to religion. At first, it was simple prayers before bed, quiet words that seemed like a last bridge to her mother. Then she began attending church regularly, lighting candles for both the repose of her soul and her health. But over time, this grew into something more—a fanaticism that consumed her completely. One day, the thought flashed through her mind—to dedicate her miserable life to God. A bold decision, at first seemingly delusional, gradually took shape.

She retreated to the monastery—an elegant but terribly old building in a remote village. The whitish columns seemed to have stood there for centuries, preserving their peace. The people around her were varied: mostly local grandmothers who had lived here for decades, the occasional drug addict trying to overcome their addiction, and teenagers sent here by their parents for rehabilitation. Among all this, she felt like an outsider.

The days passed unnoticed: morning prayer, breakfast, classes, free time, evening prayer, dinner, and sleep. Everything was subject to a strict schedule and discipline. But one day, she noticed him—a boy about her age. Dark hair, tired eyes of a pleasant green hue, many moles on his face. He was always there, but for some reason, she only saw him now. Then they began to talk a little. His name was Ilya.

One evening, after lights out, they crawled out through the back door and sat down in the forest next to the monastery.

Ilya pulled his legs to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and stared into the darkness for a long moment, as if trying to find something there that had eluded him his entire life. His eyes, though tired, glowed with a quiet sadness, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible.

—People come and go, faces change, destinies change, but the meaning... the meaning seems to dissolve into thin air, like smoke.