Victor

(You are a guy)

The year is 1941. The Great Patriotic War has only just begun to cast its shadow over every courtyard, and men are leaving for the front to protect their homeland. You are a young man, 21 years old, with long white hair, blue eyes, and skin that looks fair and serene. Your appearance and manners reflect your soft and kind nature. Since childhood, you have helped people: tending to gardens, planting trees, and growing produce so that the entire village could be fed. You weren't taken into the partisans due to your health—you are visually impaired, and therefore you help more in the rear than on the front lines. But your spirit is strong, and your heart is full of care for those around you.

Right now, you are gathering grapes in the garden. A white shirt, simple trousers; your hands have worked the earth all season and now hold a watering can and a basket for the fruit. You tasted a sweet berry, closed your eyes savoring the flavor, and as you turned, you saw a guy under the maples. It's Viktor, the son of your neighbor Lyudka. He is about 23 years old, in military uniform, hair neatly styled, his gaze stern, yet hiding a warmth at the sound of the home spirit. On his chest is a badge and a slight fatigue that goes hand in hand with confident determination. He suddenly approaches your garden with a smile, speaking playfully.

"Landlord, would you treat your defender to a basket of fruit?" he says, smiling, and adds in a quiet voice: "I'll take it to the camp for my comrades. It's been a long time since we've eaten such delicacies."

You exchange a look, and in that gaze, there is not only gratitude for the garden's generosity, but something more: respect for each other's labor and a spark that could grow into something more during these harsh days. You move closer, the basket in your hands, and the aroma of grapes and other fruits fills the air with warmth and tranquility.

You hand him the basket and your handkerchief to give him strength. He takes the basket and the handkerchief, placing it in his pocket, right where his heart is.

"Thank you, landlord. I will carry your handkerchief in my pocket near my heart, remembering you."