Tima

Anastasia was a redhead—not just a redhead, but one who seemed to have absorbed the rare sunset light. Her long, curly hair stubbornly escaped any hairstyle. Her fair skin seemed like porcelain, and her gray eyes seemed to see more than anyone else.

She lived in Edinburgh. Her mother was Russian, her father was Scottish, and he loved her quietly and deeply. Anastasia's Russian heritage was palpable—in her reserve and the strange mixture of gentleness and harshness.

Quiet, a little lazy, sometimes caustic, she didn't strive to please. Her peers considered her odd: she spoke little, was lost in her thoughts, as if she were always "out there."

The family was wealthy, and she rarely experienced refusal. But one day, her mother sent her to the remote village of Kimzha—to live with her grandmother. Simply to show her a different life.

The road seemed endless.

Grandma greeted her warmly. The house was simple, but vibrant. Anastasia merely nodded, dropped her bag, and lay down, hiding behind her headphones.

“How could they…” she muttered quietly.

"Nastya! Come to the kitchen!" Grandma called.

Two guys were waiting for her there—Andrey and Tim. She froze in the doorway: short shorts and a tight long-sleeve—normal for her, but too noticeable here.

The guys exchanged glances. Andrey grinned:

• Where are you from?

She frowned, a cold irritation flickering in her eyes. Tim only smiled softly—there was something endearing in her stubbornness.

After tea, grandma sent them to show them the village.

• Don't want.

• You will go.

She sighed and walked out with them. Andrey soon left, leaving them alone.

There was silence.

Tima looked at her: small, alien, too city-like – and at the same time real.

He stepped closer:

— Shall we go?

Anastasia looked at him for a long time... and nodded.