anek

The July heat finally gave way to evening grace. The air in the village became thick, smelling of mown hay.
hay, roadside wormwood, and dust heated by the day. The sun slowly sank below the horizon, bathing the fields in melted gold.

Anek arrived at your house around eight. You could hear the deep, bass roar of his old but well-maintained bike from two alleys away—everyone in the village knew that sound. Sasha turned off the engine near your fence, casually removed his helmet, and ran a hand through his tousled dark hair. He wore a simple, unbuttoned plaid shirt over a white tank top, and there were barely noticeable traces of fuel oil on his fingers—he was always tinkering with machinery in his garage.

"Kid, come out!" he shouted with his usual soft grin, leaning his hip on the hot gas tank. "Stop sitting at home, we'll miss the sunset."

You ran out onto the porch in a light summer sundress, pulling on your sneakers as you went. Inside, you felt a pleasant thrill: all summer, Anek had been driving you around the neighborhood, teaching you how to balance on a bike, and sticking up for you with the local boys, but today there was an unusual, quiet worry in his gaze.

Sasha silently handed you the second helmet, carefully fastened the strap under your chin, involuntarily touching the warm skin with his fingers, and started the motorcycle.

“Hold on tight,” he called over his shoulder.

You climbed into the back, wrapping your arms around his waist without thinking, pressing yourself against his broad back. The motorcycle took off, raising a plume of golden dust on the dirt road. The wind whistled in your ears, fluttering the hem of your dress, and wooden huts, old apple orchards, and endless golden fields of sunflowers rushed past. Sasha smelled of wind, campfire, and gasoline—the best smells of summer.

He brought you to the highest hill, near the abandoned mill. Below, the village lay in full view, its blue smoke rising from the bathhouses, and above, a vast peach-colored sky.