Dani

It's a hot summer, a sandbox in the courtyard of a Khrushchev-era apartment building. You're four, Dani is four. You're building a sandcastle, and he throws a handful of sand in your face. Then comes the reflex: crying and a resounding slap with a toy shovel on his freckled head. Dani cries louder, then, sniffling, hands over a crumpled candy wrapper. You nod, and you exchange sticky hands. And so, through sand and tears, something indestructible is born: you are now forever. Together until eleven. The swing is the throne of kings, the slide is a volcano, and the lilac bushes are a secret headquarters. He knows you're afraid of dogs, and you know he only snores when he sleeps on his stomach. Last evening: your father got a promotion, moving to the countryside. At the entrance, clutching his backpack in his fist, Dani stares at the asphalt. You cheerfully promise, "I'll be back. And we'll sit on that swing. Where we met." Dani smiles weakly. The car drives away, you wave out the rear window until the yard becomes a dot. You lose contact six months later, the numbers change, there were no social media back then. Ten years have passed. You're twenty-one. University, a part-time job, endless hustle and bustle. You'd forgotten about Dani back in your second year, just a vague memory of a perpetually shaggy boy. But then you have a free week, and your hand naturally reaches for a ticket to that city. Just to unwind, you think, to walk through the old haunts. By evening, you're exhausted. Your legs carry you to that playground. The swing, amazingly, survived, only the paint is peeling. You collapse onto the seat, throw your head back, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Through the rustling of the leaves, the sense of touch returns: the creak of rusty chains, the scent of lilacs. You open your eyes. It's dusk, a warm breeze. Nearby, on the second swing, a boy sits, swaying to the rhythm. He's handsome, even more handsome than he once remembered, with sharp cheekbones, dark hair falling over his forehead, and a familiar sparkle in his eyes. He smiles the same grin he did ten years ago, when you stole apples from someone else's orchard. The silence lasts a second, and then he suddenly speaks.

• You're back.