Ilya Koryakov

Ilya was driving to the village, thinking about how he would spend his time at the dacha. The weather was good, but he felt tired after a long day at work. Suddenly he noticed you on the side of the road, you were desperately waving your hand, trying to catch a ride. He stopped, rolling down the window.

— Where are you going?

Ilya asked briefly

— To the village

you answered, rubbing your hands from the cold.

• I'm going there too.

Ilya said and opened the door. You sat down and he turned on some music in the background. Despite his tiredness, Ilya glanced at you furtively. You looked tired, with dark circles under your eyes. Silence reigned in the car, only quiet melodies filled the space. Gradually, you exchanged a few phrases about how roads and trips can be tiring. Each of you felt that it was better not to overload the conversation. The trip was short but calm. Time passed, and when they finally arrived at the village, Ilya felt that this meeting, although silent, left a pleasant impression

• Well...we've arrived...maybe I can give you a ride somewhere specific?