It had just begun snowing when Mandukhai and I walked towards the main road to find our new jobs, our first as Vladimir and Bolormaa. The town center obviously had more opportunities, but that is where Mikola and Mandukhai once were, and half the people there know us. We can't risk exposing our new identities to anyone, and we cannot trust anyone.
We continued to walk until we got to one of the Petrol stations with a big, busy tavern next to it. My left arm was still in pain from what happened a few weeks ago, but I had to find employment at one of them, for Soyolma. Mandukhai decided to go to the petrol station; meanwhile, I went to the tavern.
The door opened with a long metallic sigh, and I was met with the scent of stews, fried dough, cigarettes, and kotlets. Apparently, the tavern is famous for making one of the best kotlets in all of Russia. The chatter inside was thick. Drivers from every corner of the Federation sat in their winter coats, shivering from the outside cold. Many spoke in accents I struggled to comprehend, and they kept stressing the "o". Must be from the west
I stood near the entrance for a while, trying not to look lost. The warmth and noise felt overwhelming after so many quiet days. In the corner, I saw a group of men huddled over a bottle of vodka, whispering almost as if they were trying to stay low. Then they were spotted by a broad-shouldered man, and he ordered them to get out in the thickest accent I've ever heard someone speak Russian. But oddly enough, it sounded similar to Belarusian?
"What did I say about poison!? Out!
The men grumbled, one even stood up, and as he stood up, and raised his arm. One of the others caught his arm just in time and said, "Maksim! Let's just leave". They all left with the angry one shouting some words I couldn't ever understand
The man turned his back and mumbled something about "idiots" under his breath. He had banned all kinds of hard liquors to prevent brawls and to be more attractive to more customers. As he walked nearby, I noticed his nametag: Myroslav, manager. A tall man with brown hair and hazel presumably in his late 20s. And from the way he handled that, I could tell this wasn't his first time
I figured, if I was going to find a job here, I'd start with the man who ran this place
As he was about to enter his office, I called out, "Manager! I have something to ask", as I nervously said
"What's the matter now!?" he said angrily.
Прабачце. But I just wan-
"Did...you just speak Belarusian? Are you from Belarus?" he cut me off quite enthusiastically mid-speech
Dang it. I just let my accent slip out, again
Yes?...oh wait no-. I'm Russian. I remembered I have to stick to my new identity
“You are Belarusian, brat. No Russkii can say прабачце like that. My best friend used to say that whenever he hit me too hard while playing tag. Ah, good times.”
Then he said, “What is a Belarusian doing in the Far East!? Don’t tell me you came for the weather!”
I used his brief joy to ask what I wanted.
“I came here looking for a... job. Heard you needed extra hands in the kitchen.”
“You came all the way from Belarus to look for a job in Zabaykalsky?? You’re funny. You remind me of my childhood best friend too much now. So I’ll hire you just for that. Besides, you look like the quiet type who doesn’t have a 60% kotlet burning rate. I’ll sign your papers right now, and you can start working from today.”
Just like that. I found a job not for my expertise, but because someone found familiarity in my origins. Myroslav seems to have a very good knowledge of my culture, but he clearly isn't one of us either. Is he...Ukrainian?
Myroslav signed the papers, and he introduced me to the staff. None of them really cared and got back to their jobs. Because I have already been baking food for over 5 years now, I made my first few desserts with authenticity, and it worked. At the end of my first shift as Vladimir. Myroslav assigned me to baking duties and...gave me his address on a piece of paper?
“Vladimir, well, you see... I am a Ukrainian who migrated over here with my family during the 1980s from around Lviv. The Russian Far East is cool and all, I mean, the standard of living here is certainly better than at home in Ukraine. But... I just miss my own people and my own culture. You may not be the 100% same as me, but a Belarusian is close enough for me to start feeling... back at home again.”
I just nodded, not sure how to respond to someone I had just met, declaring me his brat. His words did feel oddly comforting, though. I wanted to correct him and say I’m Russian, since I don’t want anyone to know Mikola. But I just let him, Myroslav felt like someone I could trust.
“If you ever need help, or just want to talk... don’t hesitate to come by. You may not know it yet, but you’ll need someone in this place.”
For the first time in a decade, I felt like I belonged somewhere
I left the tavern with a thousand feelings. Myroslav could indeed be worth keeping around after all. I walked to the petrol station, and Mandukhai was waiting for me in our SMZ. She had also found employment as a cashier there, but she didn't run into someone like me. We arrived home and came to an agreement. Since Babuhska and Dedsuhka weren't here anymore, we would take turns at our jobs and home duties throughout the day. Mandukhai would work during the day and take care of Soyolma at night. Meanwhile, I would take care of her during the day and head to the tavern at night.
As I watched Soyolma scribble in her notebook at the table, I felt a strange mix of pride and anxiety. This was the first time I was spending meaningful time with my own daughter. We were finally carving out a life for ourselves, but it felt fragile, as if one wrong step could unravel it all. Still…for now, it was ours, and that was enough.
As the years passed by, our livelihoods improved for the better. The new president, Putin, seems to know what he's doing as the Federation is starting to look up. Poverty was declining, the ruble was stabilizing, the streets looked cleaner with fewer drunken men staggering around, people were getting healthier, and even the town's atmosphere was calmer.
In those years, I quietly completed my bachelor's in medicine at the Chita college. No one outside the administration noticed; I wasn't doing it for prestige, I did so just because it felt necessary for the path I was slowly carving for myself
[Author's note: I know, that last sentence might lead to some confusions and disrupt certain things, but for future chapters, I really need Mikola to have something up his sleeves or else this novel will become hilariously unrealistic. Written on 1/2/2026]
During the same time, my colleagues slowly began noticing my baking skills and thought I was the coolest person on Earth for that. I would occasionally go to Myroslav's after work to pick on our least favorite staff members, complain about rude customers, and talk about how similar our cultures are. He would always get confused about why I have a Russian name, and my excuse would always be, "I got adopted by a Russian family". Both he and I refused to attend festivals since we'd see them as a golden opportunity to just rest at home from all our confusing duties. I loved to be around Myroslav, not just because he was funny and a genuine friend. But because he is the first friend I have had since 1989. I made other friends along the way, of course, but Myroslav was the only close one
By the time I trudged home through the thin snow each night, I sometimes caught myself smiling at how ordinary everything felt. For the first time in years, I wasn’t just surviving, I was slowly…living.
Mandukhai and I would send Soyolma to kindergarten and later, school. From a young age, she had always shown interest in other countries, nature, and people, and Mandukhai would always distract her with the "more important" matters. As her Papa's mood improved over the years, her Mama's would remain static. She didn't like talking to either her or her Papa during the holidays and had too many expectations. Soyolma'd sometimes beg me to stay home whenever Mandukhai was. And I would always reassure her that I'll do whatever she wants on Saturdays when we're both on break.
I remember one of her first school trips being hilariously disastrous. They were hiking about twenty kilometers from town when she stumbled across an old Mongolian stone structure near a cave. She was beyond excited, crawling over every corner and crevice, pointing out carvings no one else noticed. But when she reached into her backpack for the camera, she realized she’d forgotten to pack it. She came home crushed. A few months later, I brought her back to that same hill, camera in hand this time, and we finally took the picture together. On the way back at the bus stop, I swear I remember seeing a familiar woman in the distance. I didn't really have time to know since Soyolma decided to drag me over to a street vendor selling her favorite type of teddy bears. I, of course, bought her one, and she would refuse to let go of it for the next few weeks
The date was the 26th of March 2005. I am turning 28, and my piroshkis(the same ones Mama used to make) had become famous within the town, and I had been promoted as supervisor, and I had a best friend. But of course, I hid my face outside the tavern because I had to stay hidden. Mandukhai, due to her "unfavorable attitude," remained a cashier. Soyolma entered 3rd grade, and she excelled in any linguistic class. It's honestly remarkable how far I have gone from exactly 10 years ago, the day my life hit its lowest point.
I woke up that morning to a 9-year-old Soyolma beside my bed, bugging me to go hiking as soon as possible. Myroslav had already planned a night at the river for the two of us. For the first time in...god knows how long, I have felt mattered to this world.
I ate breakfast and packed up to go hiking for my dochi (daughter). On previous hikes, I promised to teach her some Belarusian on our way. So this time, I taught her some of the basics and pronunciation on the grassy hill, with the melting snow causing a ton of mud on the dirt path. And the way she paid attention was priceless. Eventually, she asked me if I knew anything in my native language, like a song or a rhyme. I thought of it for a moment before gently singing her a lullaby that only the Vyachorkas know. That one kitchen night in 1985 came rushing back to me. Isaak drumming against the counter, Tatiana doing a small dance, and Papa laughing from behind the camera have become a treasure to me at this point, and I was on the verge of tears by the end of it. I can't believe it has been 20 years already. Soyolma saw my face and asked me
“What’s wrong...Papa? Why are you crying?”
At this point, I've had enough of hiding the truth from her.
“Dochi, Papa used to have a different family back then. I had a Mama and Papa just like you. I also have an older brat and two older siestras I haven't talked to in a very long time.”
“Soo...what happened, Papa? Why don't you see them anymore?” She was quite confused, but more importantly, worried.
I haven't talked to anyone personally about that night yet. Whenever I tried talking about it to Mandukhai, or when Vadim asked me about it a few years ago at the hospital? I would never get past my second sentence without collapsing to the floor in tears. So, I would always make up some lie about my family to everyone, including Soyolma. But...is this what Mama and Papa would've wanted? Maybe it is time to come to terms with my past and face it.
“Papa...lost them in an accident before you were born, Soyolma. And my brat and siestras don't know how I am doing today. I have no idea if all three are alive or not...But I just know they definitely went looking for me.” Just like that, my daughter became the first person I have ever shared that information with. At that moment, I felt as if something massive and ancient had snapped inside me...
"Then why don't you go look for them too, Papa?? I thought family loved each other!"
Soyolma could have asked me that in so many ways, and yet, she chose the one that is the simplest yet cuts the deepest. I have indeed been avoiding them, almost as if I don't love them back. For embarrassment initially, and now for reasons that go beyond me. For her safety. For her to live out here. For the life I've finally managed to build. I thought of lying to her about something bad that happened between us and cutting contact for it. But none of them deserve to be looked down on; they were never bad. Eventually, I said out to her after convincing myself:
“Papa does love his family back, Soyolma. But just understand that if they ever find me, some really mean guys will find us too and do bad things to us.”
I gave up on sugarcoating it for her. She deserves to know the truth by now.
Soyolma processed that information much better than I anticipated. She's already showing more compassion and sympathy than her Mati at 9 years old. She looked down at the muddy path with confusion in her green eyes — the same emerald pair that once stared back at me 20 years ago from Tatiana and my Mama — before saying:
“I didn't know you were like this...Papa. Mama would always push me away whenever I tried to make her happy when she was sad.”
Her face was welling up from all the heavy talk. So, I suddenly turned around and went to our favorite thing, collecting berries from the woods and eating them at dom. She yelled in excitement and immediately ran past me so she could find the more lush areas with more fully grown blackberries. We raced against each other, and as always, I purposely gathered them slower for her so she could win. She completed her bowl about 30 minutes later and shouted out loud
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Yay!! I won again!" with the smile on her face that never fails to lift me up
We decided to walk back home in the afternoon, as the mud sagged beneath our feet, and saw a few foxes running by. I told her something:
When the time is right...Soyolma, Papa's siblings would eventually appear one day, one way or another. And if you ever somehow see them? Sing the lullaby I just sang out to you. From years of separation, no one will be able to recognize us. But only the Vyachorkas know it."
"Got it! Pa...pa. Your surname is Vyachorka??"
That's the first time my real surname has been acknowledged by her, and it felt strange...
As we arrived home at around 14:00, Soyolma was tired from the hike, and I tucked her to sleep after giving her hot chocolate. The apartment felt silent except for noises from neighbors on the top floor, and I started thinking about our little conversation on the hill about my family. Her sheer innocence has made me spit out more about my life than any adult compassion has. After facing the ashes of Papa and Mama for the first time since they had passed away, I decided to confront another thing I had been avoiding for the last 10 years: Tatiana's letters. The same ones Papa gave me before their journey to Buryatia
I've been keeping them under my bed all those years, collecting dust and fading away almost as if I were hoping for them to just...disappear. I always told myself I'll read them later on one day, and that day has now come
I picked up the only letter that was still in shape and saw Tatiana's confusing handwriting fading to soft brown. As I tried to understand it, I heard Tatiana's high but raspy voice instead of mine; the first time I had thought about it ever since I met Myroslav. But the weird part is that I wasn't scared or nervous at all, as I had expected. But no, the process went smoothly, and a slight smile emerged on my face as I read:
"Heyy, Miko!. You've probably forgotten my voice now, huh? If you haven't, then I have something to tell you
I'm in my third year of medical school in Moscow, and I have no words to describe how exhausting it is. No free time? Check. Burnt out? Check. Do I want to drop out? Check. But I do know what I'm doing this for: kindness means staying even when it hurts
Do you remember when Mama got terribly sick a few years ago? Me, Isaak, and Viktoriya were all too busy with our studies; meanwhile, you sacrificed your own grades to stay beside her for days? You were the one to calm her down and make her suffering easier. That's when I realized some people were just simply born to care for others. And, you are one of them
Mama told me about your routine last letter, and I'm impressed. You are choosing this career not for the profit nor the money, but to help others, to be there for the ones who need it the most. There are too many students here in college who are doing this for the sake of money, not out of their own passion. Miko, Rossiya needs your kindness. And one day, when you finally wear that white coat, show the world what Mikola Vyachorka is capable of."
-1993.22.03, Tatiana Vyachorka(your sister if you forgot)
I put the letter back in the envelope and started to tear up...again. But not out of misery or held back emotions, this was the happy kind of tears. Tatiana was 22 years old when she wrote that, and if she's still around today(honestly, god knows what), she'd have just hit 34. When I last murmured a word to her, she was 18. Time really does fly by, doesn't it?
I would spend that afternoon sitting on the balcony, thinking about her words while Soyolma snored from the other side of the apartment. I love baking, but. Why did I completely brush off my actual dreams? Sure, I had failed that entrance exam all those years ago, and I really only have a bachelo's, but I can't let a single mistake dictate my entire life. I sat there, the letter limp in my hands. The oven timer ticked faintly in the kitchen, that same sound I once thought was the pulse of my life. But now it only reminded me of everything I’d settled for. Tatiana’s words didn’t just stir memories; they lit something. Maybe something I’d buried too long. Maybe I should tell Myroslav about this at the river
Before I knew it, I had spent hours there. I saw Mandukhai parking outside, and heard the cellular device ringing, accompanied by little yet rapid steps from behind. It's time
I kissed Soyolma goodbye, answered Mandukhai's million questions, and left for the river with a few bottles of kvass and a bag of sunflower seeds
The spot Myroslav told me about was just as he described it: a low, sandy bend in the river with two birch trees leaning over the water like watchful sentinels. I spread a mat on the shore and just stared at the current for a while, letting it pull my thoughts away
"Heyy Vlad! I see you decided to come early!"
I looked back, and there he was, wearing the same blue hoodie, the same silver bracelet catching the light. Myroslav hasn't changed a bit
But what caught me off guard was the massive grocery bag he was carrying
Yeah, I thought I'd enjoy the quiet while there's still light outside. And what are all...those for? Are more people coming?
"Ehh, it's just for the two of us."
Poor Myroslav had packed as if we were going on vacation. I could see three 1.25-liter bottles of kvass, a loaf of bread, a bunch of cans, and something suspicious sticking out. As he sat down beside me and began eating one of the hundreds of rulets he had brought, I asked him:
“Myro,” I said, listening to the water rushing nearby, I’m still wondering why we had to come all the way to the river outside town. I don’t mind it, but… we could’ve just gone to your place again, you know?
He put his rulet down, eyes fixed on a lone crow perched across the water:
"Friend, I dragged you here for a reason."
Oh? I smirked. And that could be-
"Because it's quiet and peaceful. It instantly makes me forget about any idiotic staff member. I go here to relax and mentally prepare myself for the inevitable," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "And I think as a supervisor, you should need rest too."
I chuckled. Typical of Myroslav. Dragging me across town just to stare at nature and talk foul of Andrei yet again
But still, as the river flowed past, my mind quickly got invaded by thoughts about them. It's been exactly 10 years since I heard that news in our old apartment. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that Myroslav brought me here out of all places in the world. After all, water has so many meanings
"Vlad, have things been bothering you?. I observed you from afar and you just sat there...staring deeply into each droplet of water like it owes you something." Myroslav said abruptly, already halfway through his second rulet
Don't you mean Mikola-
"Who is Mikola?"
Dang it. I had never slipped up this badly since our first meeting at the tavern. Tatiana's letter must have made me remember my name again.
"Did you invite some other guy called Mikola to our private moment or..."
At this point, I just gave up. I listened to my heart for once and revealed everything. Maybe the same person who has been unconsciously keeping me sane for the past 4 years deserves to know it as well
I am Mikola, Myroslav.
"Hah, good joke Vladimi-"
Vladimir Kuznetsov is not a real person, and never was.
"Wait... what??"
Just from his eyes alone, I could tell Myroslav’s brain had just done a complete reset. And for once, he didn’t crack a joke or say something stupid; he just listened.
I was Mikola Vyachorka all along, I said, my voice steadier than I expected. Born in Borzya, 1977, to a Belarusian family. Myroslav, I was never adopted, never abandoned; I was simply chosen to survive alone. Fate took my entire family away ten years ago today.
Myroslav blinked, his gaze flicking between my face and the half-eaten rulet in his hand, as if he couldn’t decide which one made less sense.
"But..." he finally managed, the words catching in his throat. "Why the fake identity then? And why didn’t you tell me any of this? I’m here, you know."
Trust me, I wanted to
"Then?"
I was involved with a gang just before we met. I said much better than I had anticipated
"Ahh, so that explains your sensitivity in the left arm-" said Myroslav. I could see his confusion was quickly converting to compassion and slight frustration
And if I don't appear dead, they would make sure that happens anyway. I hid everything, so I can protect not just myself, but also my family. Even if that meant erasing all the footsteps I ever took
It took Myroslav so much by surprise that after blinking a dozen times, he muttered something and let out a small chuckle. But once his eyes fixated on my eyes. Deep and green like rivers that have forgotten where they began, he froze. There was a quiet storm in them, a thousand unspoken confessions swirling beneath the surface. That’s when Myroslav realized I wasn’t joking.
He leaned back again, and his mind was visibly overwhelmed by this. A part of me was expecting him to be a little enraged over the fact that I had just lied to him for the past 4 years.
Well...I'm sorry if I have been a bit dishonest with you.
But just like how today has been, the unexpected came.
His thick brown eyebrows loosened, and he spoke with his exotic hazel eyes softening. Like a quiet warmth blooming in them. Like autumn leaves caught in the last light of day. They didn’t burn; they forgave.
"Did you really believe I'd just...throw you away over that!? Hah! Only a fool would do such a thing, Miko."
Miko...Miko. That stuck with me. It is the first time Myroslav has ever called me by my real name.
"Friend, there are a few reasons why I drag you somewhere every weekend, even when it’s clearly against your will."
“Huh!?” I said aloud, half laughing, half confused.
Sure, I already knew part of it. I’m probably the only local who can tolerate him. But... what else could there be?
"I can tell you need this friendship, Mikola."
He said it so casually, yet it landed heavier than it should have.
"Whenever I’m not in the office or fighting customers over invoices, I check up on my staff — see how they’re doing."
Wait. He does that?
"You’re always quiet. You barely talk to anyone, and when you do, it’s all erratic and apologetic, like you’re sorry for existing. Half the time, you just sit there, staring at the ceiling like it owes you an answer. But when we go out like this?"
He gestured toward the river. "You turn into an actual person. You talk, you laugh, you stop tripping over your own words. You even show emotions."
Honestly, for someone like him, I didn't expect him to be this emotionally intelligent...at least for his level. Myroslav and I exchanged some words, I don't remember what after, probably something awkward
Then, the river began to slow, and the moonlight shimmered across its surface, bouncing straight into my eyes. I looked down at my hands, and that’s when I saw it: a tiny ant, dragging another fallen one back toward its nest. At first, I thought it was just cute, a quiet moment of life doing what it does.
But then I realized… that’s what Tatiana meant all along.
Kindness means staying even when it hurts
Myroslav looked at me and could tell I was so occupied with my thoughts that I started to stare at the moon. He knew and asked me
"Ahh, so, Miko, what's been bugging your mind all of a sudden?"
I want to resign from the tavern. Just like that, it just...came out of my mouth without me ever giving a command to do it
"Okay, Miko, could you elaborate on that?"
I enjoy baking, I really do. It's an interest that was carried on from Mama. But I never planned on being anonymously known as Zabaykalsky's best piroshki man and to discover your secret kotlet ingredient.
I gazed at Myroslav for a second, and he was just...sitting there and listening, no judgment. That's unusually strange for him. But anyway, I continued my statement
I want to work at the hospital, I said quietly, the river wind brushing against my hair. That’s where my heart wants to be. And don’t worry about qualifications, I still remember my training from back then, and I have a friend who’s a doctor. I’ll find a way.
Myroslav said nothing at first. The river kept whispering between us, and for the first time in years, I felt like I was finally crossing to the other side. His face went through dozens of unreadable expressions until he finally said something
"Okay then, you're fired. That settles everything."
That's a funny way of saying "good luck," eh?
Myroslav burst out laughing from that, the first time he had laughed from my jokes. I guess I finally cracked his confusing code
Then his hazel eyes, lightened from the same moonlight reflection, met my emerald pair, and for once I didn't see confidence, but rather...fear. He gripped my shoulder with his right arm before saying
"Does that mean...you are leaving? You know, I don't want that to happen. The hospital is far from the main road and all"
That little question hit me harder than any fancy speech he has delivered. But instead of just comforting him, I decided to respond in his language
You are not getting rid of me that easily, Myro!
He let out a laugh again, so loud that it could wake up half the town if we were at the center. But I guess he was relieved, and that's enough for me
For the rest of the night, our conversation gradually shifted from confessions to just about talking trash about anyone who has a 50% kotlet burning rate at the tavern, but this time, I was involved in making the jokes. I'm finally starting to get him now. Humor is a great form of therapy when you're this stressed. I know it's rude, but we can do them once in a while, right?
Phew, that was pretty heavy. I actually thought of some lines VERY long to make sure they mean something, and for them to be as high quality as possible. But we certainly cannot forget about the other Vyachorkas. Let's visit them, shall we?
After being notified about his death, each 3 siblings was crushed and really started to doubt if they would ever see their little brother again. They slowly moved on with their lives, but the pain still stung. Tatiana would stop sending letters and have her first daughter in 2002, and she would quit nursing to pursue finance and management. Isaak began participating in national volleyball tournaments, and he even won a few medals in some of them, and had his son in 2006. Viktoriya, meanwhile, struggled to move on. She thought the police had lied to them, and Mikola is out there...somewhere. After discussing things with her team at a tech company in Yekaterinburg, she would decide the best way to come to terms with his death is to come to the place he last lived in, the town
During 2004 Maslenitsa(a festival), Viktoriya took a series of trains from her home in Yekaterinburg all the way to Chita to do old things and attend the Maslenitsa there. Her reason to celebrate it over there instead of a much larger one at Yekaterinburg is "authenticity". After spending a few nights waiting for the bus at Chita, she set off to the town, and after an hour of bouncing around with the terrible road conditions, she arrived at the town, her first time here since she had moved out when the family still lived in Borzya
Upon setting off the bus and taking a moment to take in her surroundings, she thought she saw a familiar man walking away from her with a young girl beside him. That...can't be him? Can it?
Before she could take a better look. Her cell phone rang, and it was her friend in Chit, where she had stayed over waiting for the bus. Viktoriya endlessly complained about the terrible road conditions and the ridiculous distance. When she ended the call and tried to look for that man, he was already gone
She reassured herself that it...just wasn't him. The police declared it 3 years ago! Mikola can't be alive! She must be imagining things
After spending half an hour wandering around the streets because she had never been here, she finally managed to track the old home, only to discover there was a new building rising in its place and that the former home was erased from the face of the planet
Mama sometimes taped photos of the town to her letters back in the early 1990s. Even though she had never been here before, Viktoriya was still pulverized by how much everything had changed
She would spend the next few days in town and exploring around the area, and participating in Maslenitsa. The town was alive with it, the air thick with the scent of butter and smoke, children chasing each other through the snow, a balalaika echoing faintly from somewhere near the bonfire. Women carried stacks of golden blini, men passed mugs of kvass, and laughter rose with the warmth. Viktoriya stood among them, watching the straw effigy burn, thinking how it felt less like saying goodbye to winter and more like saying goodbye to someone she once knew. Even though her objective was to get a grasp of things, deep inside her, she still held out hope that Mikola could just...bump into her any second, and she would give him the tightest hug she had ever given
Maslenitsa ended, and the holiday was over. She aboarded the bus, and the town grew smaller from the window. She was pretty satisfied with how she spent the past few days. She had honored her faith and made a closure with the pats. But...a small part of her was shattered because she never met him
