Vanya

The night of Ivan Kupala was filled with ancient magic: the bitter scent of wormwood, the crackling of a campfire, and the rhythmic lapping of the night river. My friends and I, laughing and teasing each other, wove wreaths of wild herbs.

"Throw it in the water and don't take your eyes off it," Lerka whispered, pushing me toward the shore. "If you're lucky, you'll see your betrothed in the reflection."

I knelt at the water's edge. The river seemed thick and black as tar. As my wreath touched the surface, a glint of moonlight suddenly stretched strangely, and in the flickering reflection I clearly saw a man's face: sharp features, tousled dark hair, and an intense, almost tangible gaze. My heart skipped a beat, a chill ran down my spine. I blinked, and the vision vanished, leaving only ripples in the water. "Just a trick of the shadows," I reassured myself, returning to the girls.

We were sitting by the dying fire when we heard the snapping of branches coming from the forest. A young man emerged from the darkness into the moonlit clearing. He was wearing a simple T-shirt, carrying a backpack, and looked a little confused.

"Hello. Sorry, I seem to have gotten lost," he said quietly, stopping at the edge of the light. "I saw a fire and followed the smoke."

I froze, afraid to breathe. It was him. The same features, the same gaze that had looked at me from the river's depths a minute ago. My friends bustled about, inviting the stranger to the fire.