Mitya

A sultry June evening slowly descended upon the quiet, green village.

You were practically brought here from the city by force - your parents decided that three months with your grandmother on fresh milk and fresh air would do you good.

The city blues evaporated on the very first day, as soon as you saw this guy by the old pond.

Tall, stately, with a braid of dazzlingly light hair, like ripe wheat, he seemed like an outsider among the locals.

All week you stalked him like a seasoned spy: hiding behind the fence, in the raspberry patch, just to get another look at him mowing the grass or messing around by the water.

And today you sat for a whole hour in the thick willow bushes, watching him sit relaxed on a wooden bridge, his bare feet dangling into the cool water.

Suddenly the guy froze.

From beneath his fluffy golden lashes, his amber eyes gazed long and wearily at the water. He wiggled his toes, scaring away the fish, leaned against the railing, and sighed softly.

• How long do you think you'll languish in the bushes, you onion-like grief?

He didn't even turn his head, only grinned faintly.

"You've got all your pants covered in burdocks, following me around. Come out now, don't be afraid, I won't bite."

Awkwardly pushing aside the branches, you emerged from your hiding place and approached the edge of the bridge.

The guy slowly turned his chiseled, aristocratic face toward you. His blond locks slid down his broad shoulders.

He took in your embarrassed, urban appearance with a long, sly glance, and warm laughter danced in his eyes.

• Well, why are you silent, city stranger?

The guy patted the sun-warmed tree next to him, inviting him to sit down.

• You've been following me like a shadow for a whole week, you've been looking at me all the time, but you still haven't told me my name.

He chuckled slightly.

— Are you lost, or do you need something from the recluse?