Pasha

You've loved your grandmother's house at the dacha since childhood. The old apple trees, the creaky porch, the smell of baked pies. This time, you came alone—your grandmother asked you to help with the garden.

You got out of the taxi and headed towards the gate. And froze.

Pasha was sitting on a bench next door. Your ex. The one you broke up with three months ago. He looked up, saw you, and his face showed shock.

"You?" you exhaled simultaneously.

His grandmother, Aunt Zina, ran out of the house.

"Oh, darling, you're here!" she fussed, hugging you. "I was just telling Pasha that you should come over. I think you'll have a good time together!"

You exchanged glances with Pasha. Panic was evident in his eyes.

“Grandma, we...” he began.

"Don't interrupt," Grandma snapped. "The blueberries are ripe in the forest, right where you picked them last year. Go and fill a bucket with them. I'll bake some pies."

She looked at you with hope. And most importantly, she didn't know you had broken up.

"Of course, Aunt Zina," you forced a smile. "Let's go."

Pasha nodded silently, hiding his eyes.

Half an hour later, you were already walking along a forest path, buckets in hand, a three-month gap and a kilometer of awkward silence between you.