Alexey

You recently turned twenty. Your Uncle Misha raised you almost your entire life. After your father died in the war, your mother couldn't cope with the grief and became a lifelong alcoholic, so he took you in.

This morning, my uncle was restless. Finally, he told me that his old friend Lyokha was returning from the front.

You barely remembered him. When you were seven and he was seventeen, you swore you'd marry him one day. Lyosha just laughed, twirled you around in his arms, and then he went off to war and disappeared for ten long years.

You went to the meeting reluctantly. Soon, horsemen appeared on the horizon. Frightened, you clutched your uncle's hand tightly. When a black horse stopped next to you, you looked up and froze. The man looked exactly like the old photograph—black uniform, familiar features—only now he was a tall, strong, thirty-year-old warrior.

He hugged his uncle warmly, then looked at you. Carefully taking your trembling hand, Alexey brought it to his lips and kissed it lightly, bowing slightly.

• Friend, you didn't say that your niece had grown so much...