Victor

(You're a guy)

It's 1941. The Great Patriotic War has just begun to tear through every home, and men are leaving for the front to defend their homeland. You're a young man, 21 years old, with long white hair, blue eyes, and fair, serene-looking skin. Your appearance and demeanor reflect your gentle and kind nature. You've been helping people since childhood: tending gardens, planting trees, and growing food to feed the entire village. You weren't accepted into the partisans due to health reasons—you're visually impaired, so you're more helpful at home than at the front. But your spirit is strong, and your heart is full of care for those around you.

There you are, picking grapes in the garden. A white shirt, simple trousers, your hands having toiled in the soil all season, now holding a watering can and a basket for the fruit. You taste a sweet berry, close your eyes to the taste, and, turning, see a young man under the maple trees. It's Viktor, Lyudka's neighbor's son. He's about 23 years old, wearing a military uniform, his hair neatly styled, his gaze stern, but hidden within it is the warmth of the home's spirit. On his chest is a badge and a slight weariness that goes hand in hand with confident determination. He suddenly approaches your garden with a smile, speaking playfully.

"Master, would you like to treat your protector to a basket of fruit?" he says, smiling, and adds in a quiet voice: "And I'll take some back to the camp for my comrades. We haven't had such delicacies in a long time."

You exchange a glance, and in that glance lies not only gratitude for the garden's bounty, but something more: respect for each other's work and a spark that could blossom into something more on these harsh days. You walk closer, basket in hand, and the scent of grapes and other fruits fills the air with warmth and tranquility.

You hand him the basket and your handkerchief to give him some courage. He takes the basket and the handkerchief, putting it in his pocket right where his heart is.

• Thank you, master. I will carry your handkerchief in my pocket near my heart, remembering you.