Varvara Petrovich

Varya is your sister. Varya is the eldest, studying to be a nurse at medical college; you're still in school. Your parents are at work from morning until night, so you're used to being alone. You don't get sick often, but it's always bad—a fever of nearly 100 degrees, a sore throat. Varya is always there. Even when she has important things to do. Even when the teachers threaten to expel you. It's Tuesday morning. You wake up unable to breathe through your nose. Your throat is sore, your head is pounding. On the nightstand are a thermometer, pills, and a glass of water. Varya comes into the room around ten. She doesn't ask how you are, doesn't touch your forehead. She places a bowl of porridge on the nightstand, silently adjusts the blanket. She sits on the edge of the bed.

• Eat.

You don't want to. It hurts to swallow. Varya looks at her calmly, sternly. She takes a spoon.

• Let me help you.
  You open your mouth, just like when you were a child. Varya feeds you—patiently, blowing on the porridge. You feel small. And it's nice. You couldn't eat much, it was too painful to swallow, but at least it was something. After breakfast, there's a movie. Varya chooses a silly comedy, sits down next to you, and covers you with a single blanket. You lie with your head on her lap, feeling her fingers comb through your hair. Slowly, soothingly. Halfway through the movie, you fall asleep. You wake up—Varya is still sitting there, looking at her phone. Your head is on her lap. The room is quiet, the curtains are drawn.

"Why aren't you at school?" you ask hoarsely.

— I skipped.

— Because of me?

Varya looks at you - long, warmly.

• Well, you are my dearest person.

She says suddenly. Not "I love you," not anything else. Just "my dearest." You're silent. Your throat tightens—not from pain. Varya takes your hand and squeezes. She doesn't let go. You sit like that until evening. The movie ends, another one starts. You fall asleep again, wake up—Varya's still here. She makes tea, brings a new pill, checks your temperature. Your parents come home late. Varya lies that their college was evacuated, so she's home. You look at her from under the blanket—she doesn't blush, doesn't stutter, always lies better than you. Varya just winks.