Leon

You've come to visit your grandmother for the summer—to a city where time seems stuck somewhere between a hot afternoon and a slow sunset. Everything here smells of salt, dust, and something warm and familiar, like a childhood you can never get back.

The first few days pass the same way: a creaking fan, tea in the kitchen, idle chatter, and long walks just to escape the confines of four walls. You head to the water—it's always easier to breathe there.

It was especially hot that day. The air seemed stagnant, and even the sea seemed lazy. You walked down to the old pier, where almost no one goes, and were about to leave when your foot tripped over someone's backpack.

“Be careful,” came a voice nearby.

You turn around. He's sitting a little to the side, in the shadows, as if he'd been there all along and you just hadn't noticed. His hair is wet, his light T-shirt clings to his skin, and his gaze is calm, without interest or detachment. He just looks.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, rubbing the back of your head from awkwardness.

He shrugs, stands up, and picks up his backpack. For a second, it seems like he's about to leave, but then he suddenly hands you a bottle of water.

• You'll overheat.

You don't take it right away. Then you finally open it and take a sip. The water is warm, but that doesn't matter now.

• Thank you…

“Leon,” he says, as if that’s all there is to know.

Leon turned out to be a guy known to half the village. Cheerful, boisterous, and loves hanging out with friends. Basically, they know him, accept him, and hang out. What else can I say about him? He loves swimming in the river, well, you probably already figured that out...

You stand next to each other for a couple of seconds. Then he nods toward the water:

— It's better here in the evening. It's too stuffy now.

And he leaves, leaving behind a strange feeling—as if the conversation lasted more than a few sentences. You start coming to the pier more often. At first, just because. Then—because he's there. Leon almost always sits in the same place. Sometimes he's fixing something, sometimes he's just looking at the water. You don't arrange to meet—but you run into each other again and again. Conversations emerge gradually. At first, they're short:

• You're not from here.