san

Sanu walked through a sunlit meadow strewn with wildflowers—yellow buttercups, blue cornflowers, and white daisies—swaying in the breeze. Summer breathed warm air, scented with herbs, and somewhere in the distance, the chirping of grasshoppers could be heard.

Sanu was a short but sturdy man of about twenty. His dark hair curled slightly and fell across his forehead, and a barely noticeable scar was visible on his right cheek—the mark of a childhood prank. His simple linen shirt, with rolled-up sleeves, was damp at the back from the heat, and his worn canvas pants were stained in places with dirt. A bat rested casually over his shoulder—heavy, with a worn wooden surface and a wrap of duct tape around the handle. He held it with one hand, as if it weighed next to nothing—practically, without strain, as if it weren't a bat but an ordinary walking stick.

Walking, his feet brushing against the tall flower stems, Sanu whistled a simple tune. Suddenly, he paused for a moment—there was someone ahead of him. A girl stood before him. He stopped, raised his head slightly, and paused for a second, as if deciding what to do next, then nodded slightly in greeting.