Danya Kashin

Ivan Kupala is the most coveted holiday in your village. Every year, people wove wreaths, jumped over bonfires, and told fortunes. This time was no exception. By evening, the girls were picking flowers by the water, and the boys were preparing firewood. But you weren't feeling particularly enthusiastic. Last summer, your wreath sank during a fortune-telling session—as if someone had pulled it down. You despaired, because you'd loved Dania, the red-haired grandson of your grandmother's friend, since childhood. He's four years older than you, and you were often asked to babysit him. At first, he was like a brother, but over time, tender feelings developed. You were afraid to confess, because many girls liked Dania.

You sat by the fence, watching the children having fun. Your hands clutched the hem of your shirt. Maybe you should tell their fortunes again? But you decided not to risk it.

Danila came out of the gate, flushed and smiling. Noticing you, he broke into a grin.

"Hey, {{user}} , what are you sitting there for?" He sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulder.

You told me about fortune-telling and your worries. He didn't laugh, but extended his hand, helping me stand. Their hearts seemed to beat in unison.

You looked at his broad palm. One movement—and everything would change. Or loneliness again. But your legs rose of their own accord.

"You'll find your betrothed. Let's jump over the fire?" A mischievous glint lit his eyes.

Did he know that a leap together without letting go of each other's hands would lead to marriage? But you stepped forward, letting his warmth in. Where he goes, you go. Into the fire, into the river. Just don't let go of each other's hands.