“For achieving such tremendous success and reaching unprecedented heights in her studies and community involvement, we have the honor of presenting our outstanding student, Sara—you all know her well—with a gift certificate for a trip to picturesque France, with the right to choose any desired city,” the institute’s senior management and the beloved and loving faculty present a farewell gift to their best student as the graduates and guests applaud the diploma and awards ceremony.

“I worked hard for all of us! We all deserve this,” Sara says happily from the stage. “I just wish I wasn’t the only one getting the ticket. But don’t worry! I’ll go, check it out, and I’ll definitely invite all of you to visit me in France!”

“Go quick! We’re all waiting!” her friends and classmates shout from the crowd, filling the formal event with a chorus of warm cheers.

“I’m going to miss all of you terribly,” Sara struggles to contain the surge of emotion, still not fully grasping the true happiness of the open prospects before her.

“We’ll look forward to hearing from you,” her friends like the idea of visiting Sara in France.

“The sooner I leave, the sooner I can invite you,” everyone laughs, intentionally forgetting all the coming obstacles and tough challenges of adult life.

Her parents release their daughter across the ocean with a pang in their hearts. For them, a period of sleepless nights, constant worry, and hundreds of sedative pills begins. Everyone understands perfectly well, but they don’t hold her back. Such a talent has no business being in Dayton. It is the equivalent of a firefly enclosed in a black box. It cannot offer the world its extraordinarily beautiful light, suppressed by the walls of circumstance, which conceal and absorb its true shining essence behind an impenetrable darkness of limitations.

Sara would surely fade away within the cramped walls of Dayton. Gloomy thoughts plague her every day. The fear of staying here forever forces her to constantly plot an escape from the tenacious, constricting grip of an oppressive future. The institute’s gift turns out to be a genuine lifeline.

The firefly breaks free in the first days of June. The start of summer treats the inhabitants of dreary Dayton to unexpected warmth. Usually, June isn’t as welcoming as it may seem. Sara is thoroughly sick of everything. And the good weather won’t distract her from the anticipation of landing on the blessed soil of France.

Only her parents see the promising young artist off at the airport. Sara said goodbye to her friends at the institute. Ray, the girl’s father, easily drives the family to the farewell spot in his snappy blue pickup, which he bought from a neighbor at a good price. Thick clouds of black smoke, mixed with road dust, trail behind them.

“Let me help you,” Lucy, Sara’s mother, gets out of the truck first, assisting her daughter as she climbs out of the high cab.

“Thanks,” Sara gets out of the car, and the two of them walk ahead.

Her father pulls a small, lilac suitcase with a round sticker of their home state, Ohio, out of the trunk. A touch of the light patriotism typical of locals. He dutifully follows them, glancing around. They enter the spacious, bright building of the Dayton International Airport, feeling a little constrained.

“So, the time has come to say goodbye,” her mother embraces her daughter with tears in her eyes. “Forgive me for everything and only remember the good things about us. Start a new life. Do everything you wish and how you wish. Take care of yourself,” she whispers the instruction so her father doesn’t hear.

“Okay, Mom,” Sara smiles lightly.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” her father hugs her tightly and kisses her cheek, gently patting her back. He generally tries never to show his emotions or feelings, especially in public.

“Don’t be sad, it’s all for the best,” Sara wipes away a couple of unexpected, solitary tears, takes her beloved suitcase, and walks into the depths of the airport. The expansive space gradually swallows the young girl’s slender figure. Ray and Lucy leave the airport without looking back. They return to the car and quietly drive back to their house, now empty without their daughter, and back to their customary life.

“Your ticket,” a nice girl at the counter says, handing over the precious item that opens the door to a new life.

“Thank you so much,” Sara replies, sharing her happy smile. She successfully completes the check-in for her flight.

“Enjoy your flight,” a friendly flight attendant wishes her with a smile at the plane entrance.

“Thank you,” Sara says, still smiling as she boards among the first passengers. She calmly takes a seat by the window. It’s a habit; she always asks for a window seat, no matter where she goes—bus, train, and now, a plane. She gazes out at the airport’s long runways. How many millions of take-offs and landings have occurred here over the airport’s long existence?

Her favorite music plays in her headphones. Just before leaving the house, she’d saved a week’s worth of songs, specifically curated for the trip, onto her phone. The selection was difficult. Each song was a struggle; she had to carefully filter out any that might spoil her mood. She already misses her parents a little, even though she was just hugging them with teary eyes a few minutes ago. It feels slightly strange. She wouldn’t call her parents exemplary. Phrases and events from the past echo in her mind.

“Sara needs a new school uniform,” her mother quietly asks. “Last year’s is worn out.”

“I don’t have money for a new uniform!” her father sharply declares.

“The uniform doesn’t cost much more than your liquor,” Sara’s mother risky reminds him. “You can skip one day of drinking, and the problem will be solved.”

“I’m already giving her an education!” her father proudly boasts after another glass. “So I have the right to drink more than anyone! And I’m in my own house! I do as I see fit! And I spend my money on what I want!” Yes, her parents helped their daughter get an education. But that help significantly loses its value when Sara remembers what she went through. The eternal parental quarrels, the lack of attention, love, simple affection, the deprivation of everything the girl deserved, all in favor of her father’s daily drinking. “And why are you looking at me like that, you ungrateful girl?!” the painful beatings in the evenings hurt the most.

“Jessica is having roasted duck with apples tonight,” Sara whispers, looking out the window while her mother sets the table.

“We used to have a dinner like that once,” Lucy recalls with a sad smile.

“And what’s wrong with having potatoes for dinner?” Ray protests, walking into the kitchen unexpectedly. “Whoever isn’t hungry can leave the kitchen.”

“We were just talking,” his unhappy wife defends herself.

“I know your ‘talking’!” Sparks of malice appear in his drunken gaze.

When other normal families sat down for dinner, in their family, it was like a horror movie; a prolonged, predictable argument would start after sunset, inevitably ending in bruises, scrapes, and bitter tears. Instead of the necessary happy child’s shouts and infectious laughter, the house was rocked by blows and running tears. The roar of her father’s voice crushed the sensitive child’s mind. Sara often went to bed hungry. Not because there was no food in the house, but simply because she didn’t want any. She practically never had an appetite. She wanted to quietly die in her small bed, not to see or endure any of it. She wasn’t lucky in her modest, sorrowful wish. Morning came again and again, filled with the heavy residue of the previous day.

“How long are you going to sleep? Get to work!” Her father, irritated by a headache, delivered a fresh portion of hurtful and undeserved phrases to his wife and daughter every morning.

“I can’t take this anymore!” Lucy’s patience ran out; she was fed up with her husband’s terrible behavior.

“What is it you can’t take?” her husband perceived every phrase as a threat.

“I’m tired of all this!” For the first time, Lucy loudly and clearly voiced her discontent. That’s when the girl realized she was losing her mother.

“And what are you going to do?” Ray inquired sarcastically and smugly.

“There’s only one solution. I’m leaving you!” the woman rushed for the exit with nothing, not even having packed her things.

“Mommy, don’t go,” Sara whispered through tears, holding her mother’s hand. “Everything will only get worse.”

“I’m sorry, daughter. I’ll either leave, or I’ll die here. And don’t worry, everything will work out,” her mother tried to calm her daughter, but they both knew it was a lie.

“Good! Get out!” the already drunk father proudly shouted at his leaving wife. The door slammed shut, leaving the father and daughter alone.

Lucy left for Peter, a respectable man, a colleague from work, heartlessly abandoning little Sara to face the perpetually drunk and enraged monster her father had become in her eyes. She looks at him the same way now but tries not to show how she feels. Things like this stay with you for life. It’s easy to leave a bad impression, especially in a child’s memory; it’s impossible to fix later. Sara cried out all her tears in childhood; she never cries anymore, no matter what happens. That’s why the little tears at the airport today surprised her so much. She must be sad to be leaving Dayton.

“Why is it taking so long?! Can’t you make dinner yourself?” her drunk and angry father shouted.

“I’m trying, please forgive me.” The girl was exhausted after every hard day.

“Try harder!” Another round of nitpicking was accompanied by another round of drinking.

Before her mother left, everything seemed awful. Then the girl realized things could be worse. Ray started drinking even more. He lashed out at his little daughter more often. It turned out it could be more frequent. Now she got it for two, taking her mother’s place. Her father’s alcohol-worn body began to fail.

“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but my father is doing badly again,” Sara frequently called an ambulance to save her father from a low and shameful alcoholic death.

“Don’t worry, Sara, we’ll be there soon,” the paramedics knew the troubled house. They came in with a sad smile, looking at the weeping Sara. “We’ll help your daddy now. And everything will be alright,” they tried to cheer up the sensitive girl. They understood that in such a situation, it was impossible to lift spirits with a smile. “That’s it. We gave him an injection; now your daddy will sleep soundly and recover. And this is for you,” the paramedics often treated the girl to tasty cough and mood-lifting lozenges.

“Thank you,” Sara smiled through her small tears. The doctors left, and she was alone again among the nightmares. The main character of the terrible series relived the same scenes every day. She believed that the black streak in her family would end someday. She turned out to be right. A white streak began. Not exactly white, of course—more of a crooked gray line.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” One day, her father’s heart failed. He hadn’t yet managed to drink himself into unconsciousness, as usual. He felt the intense, life-threatening pain very clearly.

“I…“ Ray, unable to say anything, simply held his breath, fearing that any inhale might be his last.

“Don’t worry, Sara, everything’s fine. Why don’t you go play in the yard? The girls are waiting for you,” the familiar nurse gently suggested.

“Okay,” the girl herself couldn’t stand such scenes anymore. She simply left the house.

“We’ll sort things out here,” the paramedics said more sternly, looking at the dying Ray. Luckily for him, the medics arrived in time and saved the slow suicide.

“Why are you leaving?” Peter openly wondered, baffled.

“Sara is growing up,” Lucy argued with something few men would understand. The poor, long-suffering girl had just turned thirteen. The beginning of a new difficult period in the girl’s awful life. Lucy knew her daughter needed her during such a special time for a developing, forming young woman.

“And you’re ready to go back to that nightmare?” Peter was still surprised.

“Things are a little simpler now,” after that incident, the father of the now grown-up Sara quit drinking. Learning that Ray had stopped drinking, Lucy thought about it a lot, had her doubts, but eventually returned home. Her husband walked around like a guilty dog, head down, unable to look his wife in the eye. Lucy couldn’t look her daughter in the eye either, having left without a second thought, abandoning the little girl alone with the monster for seven long years. She had done the worst thing possible.

“Here, take this, girl,” the neighbors always spoke to Sara with genuine kindness, helping during the difficult time.

“Thank you all so much,” Sara cherished everyone as family, considering them her one big family.

“We all pitched in a little,” mostly, the kind people brought food.

“I hope this fits you; everything is practically new. Kids grow fast; they don’t have time to wear things out. If it fits, wear it, don’t be shy,” those who had children the girl’s age brought clothes.

“Thank you. These are such beautiful things,” the girl was always genuinely happy about the new items.

“And you’re ready for school,” the whole neighborhood chipped in to get Sara ready for school. They bought pens, notebooks, and textbooks. The girl didn’t look rich, but she looked respectable.

“What if they tease me at school?” Sometimes, the girl still remembered the harsh realities of life, where cruelty abounds, especially from children.

“Let them just try!” Her neighborhood friends always supported and defended her, despite the material and emotional situation in her family.

“I am infinitely grateful to all of you.” The love for one’s hometown lies in the close people. Farewell tears are dedicated to them.

“Now we can afford a little more,” Lucy started bringing in more money after returning home. Her boss knew the family’s situation well and gave her a raise.

“And I have a decent salary, too,” Ray found a job as an electrician at the local factory.

“Here, take this, for our Sara’s studies,” the neighbors didn’t stop helping, secretly paying for Sara’s education.

“That’s exactly the right amount,” the woman at the bank counter happily announces, counting the deposited money. “People have been bringing small amounts all morning,” this was the little secret behind the girl’s high school education. Sara got into college honestly and completely on her own merit.

“Thank you all so much!” the neighbors remained her true extended family. She said goodbye to each one separately. She hugged and kissed them like the dearest people in the world. “I wish I could take all of you on my trip!” she strongly wanted to repay them for their help and support.

“Then a whole plane wouldn’t be enough, and you only have one ticket,” her friends and loved ones answered with a laugh.

“Hurry up,” Sara whispers, looking out the window. She is doing her best not to show the inexpressible delight of the trip, or the whole college would flip out. All of Dayton would learn about the girl’s great happiness.

“Please turn off all electronic devices,” the slender flight attendant approaches. With a friendly smile, she asks Sara to turn off her perfectly selected music.

“Yes, of course,” Sara says, smiling back as she turns off her favorite song. She returns to reality. The cabin is completely full. She is sitting on the plane now and can’t believe her immense good fortune. She still doesn’t fully grasp the incredible turn in her stagnant, dead-end life.

“Esteemed passengers, please listen to the safety instructions,” the flight attendants routinely conduct the briefing for the passengers.

“Please fasten your seatbelts,” another flight attendant checks if all the belts are fastened.

“Goodbye,” Sara whispers, looking at the airport building.

“Esteemed passengers, this is your captain speaking. We are starting our taxi and are leaving the airport of the beautiful city of Dayton. Scenic France awaits us all. Have a pleasant journey.” The plane smoothly gains speed. The runway slides past her eyes so quickly that it seems the flight has already begun. They aren’t flying through the sky but across the ground itself. A jolt, and the plane confidently lifts into the air.

Sara feels her own wings, lighter than air and whiter than clouds, growing. The girl is leaving her hated life behind. The difficult past, with its small patches of light, gradually fades. Ahead lies only a tempting, unknown future.

Voluminous, rolling clouds settle in the porthole for the entire flight, occasionally allowing a view of the home planet from the unprecedented height. Yes, there’s a little sadness in the soul, no one argues with that. Yet, joy and lightness prevail throughout the body. The stark landscapes of the huge country give way to the massive, uniform expanse of the ocean.

The only variety here lies in the shades of the element, from tender blue to an intense blue-black, like ink. The girl once knocked over a bottle of such ink when she was a child, staining the light-colored carpet that had to be thrown away. Sara always loved the ocean, though she had never seen it up close. She yearned to go every year, but she never managed to reach a sandy coast. She loved it, yet was afraid of it deep down. The danger lurking within the depths of the element simultaneously attracts and frightens the inquisitive, young, and energetic girl.

Now, she is closer than ever to what she desires. It seems she could reach out and touch the water, feel the refreshing dampness, despite the thousands of feet below. Sara would have walked the miles across land. She wouldn’t have needed any transportation, just a comfortable pair of shoes. Since childhood, she has loved to walk long distances. She used to sneak out of the house at night for a stroll, to be alone with herself and get a good rest from another difficult day, in every sense of the word.

She eagerly anticipates frequent walks in picturesque places. The plane shakes a little. The passengers tense up. Some clutch the armrests with fingers hardened by fear. But not Sara. Happy travelers don’t fear turbulence. The girl notices nothing bad during the long, exhausting flight across the ocean. The noisy passengers in the seats nearby, the shaking of the plane, the slight coolness by the window. Everything now brings her only joy.

A man about seventy years old sits next to the girl; his hair looks remarkably like clumps of unpicked cotton. He is flying home, joyful, looking at a family photo. He has a large family. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. He also looks separately at a worn black-and-white photograph of his once-young wife. He smiles with tears in his eyes. Sara worries the entire time that the man might be overcome by the intensity of his emotions.

Behind the sensitive passenger sits a young girl, a little younger than Sara. She’s learning French from a phrasebook, silently moving her lips, and at the same time reading a study outline with underlined definitions and complex formulas. Clearly, she’s an exchange student. Though, what difference does it make? If she thinks about every one of the two hundred-plus people on the plane, she won’t have time to enjoy the flight.

The passengers in the neighboring seats held the firefly’s attention for only a short time. It is much more interesting to observe the beauty of the world from the height than to look at ordinary people whom she can examine at any moment on the ground. Maybe they have a rich life story, an interesting future, and a fulfilling present, but for Sara, they are merely temporary fellow travelers whom she will forget as soon as she descends the steep gangway after her first flight.

“Would you like anything?” the flight attendant walks gracefully through the cabin like a model on a narrow runway, offering snacks and drinks. Sara has lost her appetite from happiness.

“Orange juice, please,” Sara agrees so as not to leave the flight attendant’s polite offer unanswered. Her neighbors boldly take full sets. They are doing the right thing for practical reasons; it’s not a short journey. The monotonous drone of the powerful engines lulls Sara to sleep and plunges her into a deep slumber with a smile on her face.

Early morning, a path along a mirror-like lake. The spring freshness awakens a good mood for the whole day. What could be better than an invigorating morning jog amid the peaceful silence? The trees are asleep, gently wrapped in the remnants of the mist. The sun is only about to rise, yet Sara’s sneakers are already making a path beneath her strong, beautiful legs.

Light, easy movements add enjoyment to the morning. The feelings from her sporty youth in school remain in the girl’s body and memory forever. There are no thoughts at all. Complete freedom of mind. She simply runs, enjoying the quiet spring morning. In moments like these, she wishes the morning would never end. It seems it will always be like this.

She turns her ankle. She loses her balance, almost falling. She holds herself up with effort. The world shakes and swims before her eyes. Beams of light impudently pierce the peacefulness of sleep. Not the dawn, but the momentary slumber. Sara wakes up from the landing gear touching the runway. She yawns, carefully restraining herself and covering her mouth with a neat palm. Rubbing her eyes, she looks into the oval, slightly fogged-up porthole. The long-awaited airship port.

Sara holds back a joyful smile; she doesn’t want to look like an ecstatic simpleton. Her body is eager to leave, but she has to wait. That’s reality. To get what you want, you have to wait patiently, especially if you can’t influence the events taking place. The fragile girl definitely won’t be able to force her way through the living corridor to the exit. A couple of minutes is nothing compared to the long years of waiting for this happy moment. The plane stops. The seat belt sign goes out. She can unbuckle the belt, in which Sara noticed no safety whatsoever.

“Dear passengers,” the captain says in a tired voice, “we have landed at the international airport in France. Thank you all for the pleasant company on the journey. Have a nice day.” The passengers sluggishly retrieve their small carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments, slowly moving toward the exit, clearing a path for those following.

Only the seventy-year-old emotional man and Sara hurry. He is rushing to his family; she is eager to taste a new life. To breathe the air of freedom. She grabs her backpack and heads with the living stream out of the plane toward the baggage claim. A special bus, obediently waiting for everyone by the gangway glistening in the sun, transports the passengers to the airport building.

After a few minutes of driving, the arriving passengers enter the airport building. A second bus delivers the rest of the travelers. The baggage carousel is empty and still. A noticeable tension appears in the room. Passengers, thoroughly tired from the nine-hour flight, begin to worry and fret about their luggage. Their legs are tired, and there aren’t enough seats for everyone. The first quiet murmurs of discontent can be heard. Sara is unaffected by the situation. The girl stands calmly to the side, patiently waiting for her beloved suitcase to appear.

The scaly ribbon lazily moves past the gathered onlookers. The large, black, and endlessly long snake stubbornly crawls forward. The passengers move closer. The first suitcases appear from the wide rubber chute at the exit. Five minutes pass without joy for Sara. Ten minutes bring a slight disappointment. Fifteen minutes become a mild sadness. At the twenty-seventh minute, the joy of reuniting with her luggage illuminates the girl.

The lilac suitcase with the stamp of her distant home state is in her hands. She rushes toward the coveted exit. Her step quickens with every second. The wheels of the suitcase roll faster and faster across the clean, shiny, light-colored floor. If Sara hadn’t needed her clothes, she would have dropped the suitcase right there, without a second thought, and run without looking back.

The airport’s automatic doors open onto the new life Sara has dreamed of since childhood. Without pausing at the exit, the girl heads toward the local taxi stand. The French sun warmly greets the traveler with a comforting embrace. A good sign, promising pleasant moments ahead. On the way to the parking lot, a young man about her age appears.

“Miss! Where do you need to go?” the guy asks in flawless English with a kind smile, holding a worn set of keys with a red oval keychain.

“Far,” Sara offers a restrained, dry smile in return, not wanting to make an enemy of the first person she meets. She continues to look out for local cab drivers.

“How far?” the young man asks, persistent.

“You certainly wouldn’t know the name,” she snaps almost involuntarily, without looking at the bothersome young man.

“What’s with the bias, miss?” the guy playfully complains. “If someone’s American, does that mean they don’t know cities or how to drive around France?”

“You’re American?” Sara is pleasantly surprised, looking at him as if he were a long-lost friend. “Why didn’t you say so right away?”

“And you didn’t guess right away?” the young man grins.

“I guessed, but now I know for sure,” Sara’s tone softens as she talks to the persistent guy.

“That’s good. Where do you need to go? Or should I guess until your distrust of me and your suspicions about my driving skills on French soil disappear?”

“Solyè, have you heard of it?” Sara turns fully toward him.

“You won’t believe it!” the guy laughs. “I'm heading right there!”

“You’re teasing me!” the girl smiles timidly, narrowing her eyes in disbelief.

“I don’t joke about such serious things,” her compatriot declares, almost sincerely. “Ready to go?” he smiles again, enticing her toward the journey.

“You aren’t, by any chance, a maniac?” Sara asks, half-jokingly, becoming wary.

“Let that be a little surprise for you,” the guy smiles slyly.

“Fine,” Sara watches him warily. After a moment, she completely forgets her caution and walks straight behind him. “At least tell me your name,” she asks politely, catching up.

“Sean,” the quick-footed, hurrying guy replies, turning back for a moment.

“Nice to meet you. Sara,” she stops, extending her hand while looking at the guy’s back. “I didn’t think my first meeting in France would be with an American.”

“It’s quite a surprise for me too,” Sean feels the expectation of a handshake behind him. He steps over, gently and smilingly shakes the girl’s delicate hand. He immediately remembers France, leans down, and kisses the soft, pale skin closer to her fingers. The girl tries not to show her pleasant embarrassment. However, notes of hidden shyness are revealed to the guy’s attentive gaze.

“We can go,” Sara smiles modestly, encouraging him to move on.

“Maybe we can switch straight to first names?” Sean’s forward proposal sounds.

“I’d love to!” Sara doesn’t even realize that her tone of voice reveals a liking for her new acquaintance. She immediately feels shy. Sean notices and smiles secretly, hiding a slight grin so as not to embarrass the sweet girl even more.

“There she is!” the guy genuinely exclaims.

“Who’s ‘she'?” the girl peers in the direction of the American’s gaze, expecting to see a friend or girlfriend, feeling a sharp pang of unexplained jealousy.

“My dear Sandy,” Sean approaches a used car with no discernible make or model signs visible on the darkened, long-faded paint.

“You named her?” Sara is surprised by this unfamiliar notion. She is quietly relieved that there won’t be another female passenger.

“Of course! A car is the best friend a man or woman can have, for anyone who knows what they’re doing,” Sean explains enthusiastically. “For many, it’s their one true love.”

“Yes, you’re right. Some people love their cars more than people. And they’re right to,” she whispers, looking over Sandy.

“It’s not even just that. Some people have no one else but their car, so all their love and affection goes to the iron heart, and it’s mutual, too. Although machines can have different personalities.”

“I agree with that, too. Not the worst option,” Sara recalls all the heartache and pain experienced by the heroes in the novels she read during her long years at the institute.

“In those people’s case, it’s the best,” Sean lovingly strokes Sandy’s faded red body, almost kissing it. If she wasn’t so dusty, he would definitely do it, without being shy around his new acquaintance.

“Do you really need to go to Solyè?” Sara can’t believe the coincidence.

“Actually, no,” Sean drawls.

“What do you mean, no?” the girl stops abruptly. Her first instinct is to walk away from this strange man.

“I didn’t know where to go, and then I saw an American. The decision came to me right away,” Sean tries to explain the unsettling oddity as clearly and gently as possible.

“How did you know I was American?” Sara interrupts, stopping her impulse to flee.

“The sticker on your suitcase,” the guy smiles calmly.

“Oh, right,” Sara feels foolish. “Why did you decide to go to Solyè? Didn’t you have other options?”

“I didn’t know which city to pick. I trusted chance. You helped,” he elaborates on the story of his choice.

“You crossed the Atlantic Ocean, flew to France, without knowing exactly where you were going?” Sara is astonished by the young man’s adventurous spirit. She shudders, imagining what it would be like if she were in his place.

“My friends and I arranged to meet here. No one showed up,” Sean sadly admits that he no longer has friends.

“Why didn’t they come if you agreed to meet?” Sara quietly probes.

“They all suddenly had urgent things come up. Families, jobs, houses.”

“I understand,” Sara whispers, having seen people’s plans fall apart for the same reasons. “How did your beloved car end up here?”

“She’s not mine,” the guy admits.

“Not yours? But you just said,” Sara feels a fresh surge of apprehension at the news.

“I mean, not beloved,” Sean pauses for a second. “Yet,” he adds, quickly correcting himself. “I bought her today. Now she’s my dear one.”

“The way you treat her, I thought you’d been together for a long time,” the shifts in mood around Sean strongly affect the girl’s emotional state.

“Cars love affection and warmth,” the guy strokes the car’s roof, philosophizing. “You have to treat them well from the first minute; then you’ll have fewer problems with them. And it’s more pleasant to drive.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Sara quietly approaches the passenger door.

“A car?” Sean clarifies with a smile.

“No, a real girlfriend,” Sara smiles shyly, looking away toward the spot where angry local taxi drivers are watching them.

“Oh, a girlfriend!” the guy yells out happily, almost nervously. “No girlfriend for a long time. Kind of never had one,” he rubs the back of his head, blushing, shifting his gaze in the same direction.

“How so?” Sara looks at him uncomprehendingly.

“I don’t even know how to explain,” Sean ponders, flustered.

“Okay, let’s drop it,” the girl decides not to torment the guy with personal questions he apparently doesn’t know the answer to, or thinks it’s better to keep silent about. “We need to go.”

“You tell me first if you have someone or not? And then we’ll drop it,” the guy tries to seize a fleeting chance to find out the detail he is curious about so he won’t have to agonize over guessing later.

“I don’t have anyone,” Sara is secretly glad that she can answer exactly like that. Sean is even happier to hear the answer. He steps closer.

“Please step aboard our comfortable limousine,” he proudly opens the car door.

“Thank you,” Sara nods gratefully, settling onto the soft, albeit old, passenger seat, covered with a barely visible layer of dust, like all of Sandy’s interior.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Sean replies, closing the misaligned door. “Just don’t mind it—no one’s ever ridden in the passenger seat with me before.”

“It’s fine,” the girl reassures him, returning to the excitement of the journey.

Sandy comes to life on the second try. Sara glances warily at the driver; the road ahead is long. Yet, with Sean, she feels calm for some reason, even in the risky car with the stranger, though he is her age. They pull out almost without a hitch. They are only slightly delayed in the traffic jam leaving the airport. In the city, the roads are still empty at this time. In half an hour, the traffic will be frozen solid.

Sara and Sean are lucky to pass through the big city. They didn’t hit the traditional evening rush hour. They bypassed the massive gathering of people eager to leave the workday and the years of a tiresome workplace behind and get home. Thousands of people and cars merge into one loud, continuous flow.

A sign marks the city limits. Ahead lies the evening drive toward Solyè. Sean and Sara travel in silence. The awkward quiet is broken by French music on the radio. They didn’t bother to search for an English station. Why travel to France only to drag America along? In June, the sun stays longer in the sky, but not this long. Sara can’t figure out why the Sun is so high. Then it hits her. Even though nine hours have passed, the time now is the same as when the plane left Dayton. And the traffic jam they faced wasn’t the evening one, but the morning one, which passed a couple of hours ago. She feels like a simpleton again.

“What’s on your mind?” the guy turns the radio down a little.

“Time zones,” the girl replies with an awkward smile, trying to look smart.

“I got caught up on the time, too!” Sean laughs, completely unashamed of his mistake. Now Sara joins in the laughter without any shyness. They drive, laughing at themselves.

“Where are you from?” the adventurous traveler begins the conversation, trying to keep the drive from becoming tedious.

“Detroit. And you?” he guessed it from the sticker. He quickly glances into her eyes, showing interest in the conversation. Then he returns his gaze to the road. He’s used to looking people in the eye under any circumstances, but he still needs to watch the road.

“Comparatively close. I’m from Dayton,” she answers, trying to recall if the city name or just the state name was on the round sticker on her suitcase.

“Comparatively,” Sean smiles. “At least the names sound similar.” He wants to establish at least a light connection.

“Have you ever been there?” she glances at the driver, realizing there’s no need to wait for him to turn to her.

“No, I haven’t,” he shrugs. “I definitely will visit when I get back to the States. Maybe we’ll see each other there. If we don’t, why even bother going back?”

“Anything’s possible,” Sara replies with a spark of joy. They’ve known each other for such a short time and are already planning to meet again thousands of miles away. This thought boosts her mood even more.

A loud explosion comes from Sean’s side. The car swerves all over the road. The driver tries to pull over to the shoulder as smoothly as possible. Fortunately, there is no one else on this stretch of highway. The girl holds tightly onto the door handle, realizing that a plane is much safer than a car, even though it flies high and the chances of survival are lower.

Clutching the leather-wrapped steering wheel with both hands, Sean stares paralyzed at the road ahead. He still can’t quite grasp what happened, but he is already glad they are alive. Sara quietly shares his life-affirming sentiment. They silently consider what to do first. Sean looks in the mirror. The road is empty. He gets out of the car. He looks around.

“Nothing serious happened,” the guy reassures his passenger, though he is a bit shaken himself, as this is his first time. “A rear tire blew out.”

“It happens,” Sara tries not to show her fright.

Sean takes the spare tire, a jack, and wrenches from the trunk. He instinctively does everything necessary. When knowledge is absent, intuition comes to the rescue; one only needs to moderate one’s pride and accept the helping hand. He doesn’t take long. The repair goes without major complications—except for the sun beating down on his back and the hot tools. Sean is more bothered by thirst. He forgot to buy water when they left the city. And it feels awkward to ask Sara. He replaces the flat tire with the worn spare. He puts the tools back in the trunk and gets back behind the wheel. His grip is much lighter now. He looks at the girl. He wants to ask about the water, but pride keeps the question locked away.

“Are you thirsty?” fortunately for Sean, Sara notices the thirst in his downcast eyes. She pulls a half-liter bottle of water out of her backpack, which she bought at the Dayton airport while waiting for the flight.

“A little,” the guy looks eagerly at the lifesaving liquid. He takes only a couple of sips, just in case the girl gets very thirsty before they can reach the nearest store.

“I feel like a drink, too,” Sara feels a pleasant concern, smiling slightly as she looks at the road. This is the first time the girl has felt thirsty all day. She carefully and gently takes a few small sips. Sandy starts up, and the journey continues.

“And why are you going to Solyè?” Sean quickly glances at his companion again as the tension from the incident with the tire dissipates.

“My institute gave me a trip to any city in France I chose,” Sara recalls with a smile.

“So why Solyè exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Sara shrugs. “I liked the name.”

“We’ve got one thing in common then,” Sean grins. “And you’re surprised I’m going to the first city a stranger names,” he gently teases the smiling Sara with his remark.

“This kind of travel is new to me,” the girl expresses her own surprise.

“Why’s that?” the driver turns sharply.

“I’ve always submitted to circumstances, acted according to instruction and a clear plan. I tried to do everything reasonably and rely on common sense as much as possible,” she recalls heavily the burden of thoughts that had weighed on her her entire life.

“Yeah, you couldn’t be called an adventurer. You don’t resemble a creative person at all.”

“Actually, creativity awakened a new character trait in me,” Sara smiles, happy with the quality her soul had acquired. “Now I have the opportunity to be my true self.”

“A creative person after all?” Sean smiles.

“Yes,” she answers modestly and quietly. The radio almost drowns out her words.

“And what field do you create in?” the guy turns the radio down further; it almost falls silent.

“Visual arts,” Sara is relaxing more and more in the comfortable seat.

“What do you depict?”

“At the institute, I drew what the program required,” she sighs, regretting the limited time for free creation.

“And now?” Sean asks, not waiting for her to continue.

“I draw whatever my soul desires,” and in those words, she feels the joy of freedom of action.

“And what does your creative soul desire?”

“I love drawing birds. It doesn’t matter what with: pencils, watercolor, ink, oils, gouache. It’s hard to capture the shimmering variety of colors of the freest creatures on Earth.”

“Don’t you paint with oil?” Sean is surprised by the unusual artist.

“People do. But I don’t like it when they say that. It grates on my ears,” Sara admits. “I like to draw beauty, not paint it. You paint walls, not pictures.”

“A rebel even among artists,” Sean laughs. “Do you have any drawings with you?”

“Why do you want to see them?” the girl feels shy.

“I’m curious. From what you said, I understood you couldn’t take your eyes off them without leaving a piece of your soul there.”

“I’m sorry, they’re all back home,” the girl sadly spreads her hands.

“Will you show me later?” Sean hopes.

“Of course!” Sara is secretly delighted. Now they have another reason to meet. She grows quiet, lost in thought.

“Is something wrong?” the guy’s worried gaze lingers a little longer in Sara’s eyes. He brakes gently.

“I’ll show you if I get back home,” she whispers quietly, looking out the window.

“Aren’t you planning to go back home?” Sean watches the road carefully, picking up the speed he’d dropped.

“I dreamed so strongly of breaking away from there my whole life. I doubt I’ll want to return,” Sara takes a scrap of paper and a sharply sharpened plain pencil from her pocket.

“So you’re a little bird then!” the captivated guy concludes joyfully.

“In what sense?” the girl struggles to return from her gloomy thoughts.

“You broke out of the cage, you feel long-awaited freedom. You can fly peacefully in the sky. And like any little bird, you’ll never want to return to the cage,” he voices his companion’s true feelings, which she herself hadn’t consciously recognized before.

“Yes, you’re right, I won’t want to,” Sara falls silent, looking at the road. Her smile holds both the sadness that accompanied her year after year and the joy she’s finding now.

“I’m sorry I brought up an unpleasant topic,” Sean apologizes quietly and guiltily, noticing her somewhat troubled emotions.

“It’s nothing terrible. The past doesn’t upset me anymore, and I’m not sad about the present or the future. The present is already cheering me up, and the future hasn’t arrived yet. I can only hope that everything will be at least a little better than in the past.”

“That’s right,” Sean supports her reasoning.

“And what do you do?” Sara shifts the attention to the guy, not wanting to replay memories in her mind anymore.

“I live,” a satisfied smile appears on Sean’s face.

“In what sense?” the girl doesn’t quite grasp the hidden meaning in his answer; there’s no definite clarity on the surface.

“I also got rid of a past that was dragging me down,” Sean explains with a sad smile.

“What was so difficult about your past? If it’s not a secret, of course.”

“Nothing much. I struggled to finish school. Dropped out of college and left, as you can see, went far away in search of a better life.”

“I see; I’m the same way,” they smile, realizing the similarity of their situations. “What will you do next? Will you just live without any aspiration or goal?”

“I don’t know yet,” the guy either genuinely doesn’t know or is hiding his plans.

“Such carefree living,” Sara notices a certain secrecy in his answer, but allows him to evade the truth, understanding everyone has the right to keep quiet.

“And what will you be doing in Solyè?” Sean predictably changes the subject.

“Drawing,” Sara reminds him. “I’m traveling on behalf of the Art Institute.”

“Ah, yes, right. Silly question. I thought you are going on vacation.”

“No, it’s not silly,” Sara reassures him. “Artists often long for a break from their beloved craft.”

“And you don’t long for a break from it?”

“For me, creativity is a break from the whole world. It’s the only way I can forget everything and everyone, even my worldly self. I find my hidden, true self.”

“And will you forget about me when you get to Solyè and pick up your brushes and paints?” Sean looks at Sara with the eyes of a faithful dog afraid of separation from its owner.

“I don’t think so,” she answers in a cheerful voice, looking at Sean.

“Well, I certainly won’t forget you!” the guy assures her, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Don’t swear on it! Time will tell,” Sara gently laughs at the guy’s seriousness.

“You’ll see, I’ll show time!” Sean confidently insists, showing his resolve.

“I’ll take your word for it. Are we there?” they drive past a road sign, but Sara doesn’t manage to read the city’s name.

“Almost,” the guy smiles sadly, regretting the end of the journey. The unwelcome and inevitable parting is approaching.

“Don’t be upset, maybe we’ll see each other again,” Sara tries to comfort the guy. And herself.

“We’ll definitely see each other, but when?” Sean just looks at the road with a mournful expression. He wants to say a lot. He remains silent, considering his words and thoughts inappropriate. There’s no time left at all. Traffic is getting heavier. It’s a small town, but there are many cars. “Where should I drop you off?” he scans the streets for a suitable parking spot.

“Wherever is convenient for you,” Sara smiles modestly, looking at the driver with trust.

“It’s convenient for me everywhere,” Sean smiles sadly. “I’ll drop you off near the train station; it’s easier to find lodging there. The locals themselves will offer it. Don’t rush to agree to the first offer, you have time until evening. You can walk around, look, think.”

“How do you know?” the girl strongly doubts this is the guy’s first visit to the city.

“It’s always like that in towns like these. Tourists are almost the only income. They’d live at the station too if it brought in more money.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Sara yawns, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Are you sleepy?” Sean smiles, recognizing himself upon arrival.

“A little. It’s morning here, but it’s evening for me.”

“Yes, evening, exactly. Well, don’t worry, you’ll find an apartment and get some sleep now.”

“I can’t wait,” but actually, the girl has a completely different desire first and foremost, yet she is too shy to say it, as if she hasn’t left her hometown, where she had to keep most of her thoughts and words to herself.

“We’re here,” the guy parks near the station, just as he predicted, in a completely empty parking lot.

“Thank you for the ride,” Sara thanks him, waiting for something, not knowing what.

“My pleasure. And it was on my way,” Sean’s smile grows increasingly sad.

“How much do I owe you?” Sara takes a cloth wallet out of her backpack.

“What are you doing?!” the guy exclaims indignantly. “I helped you out of goodwill,” he seriously walks around the car. He opens the passenger door and helps her get out.

“Thank you, Monsieur, you’re so gallant,” Sara hides her surprise at the manners of her kind and seemingly simple travel companion.

“The pleasure’s mine, Mademoiselle,” he takes her suitcase from the trunk.

“And gasoline costs money!” Sara insists, wanting to show her gratitude.

“What gasoline? I gave you a ride in exchange for a hint about which city to go to,” the guy cleverly deflects.

“Alright,” the girl smiles, putting the wallet away. “Then, if we meet again, I’ll treat you to coffee.”

“Great! I’m all for it!” Sean openly rejoices. A future meeting is possible.

“Here,” Sara hands him the piece of paper.

“No need!” the guy pulls his hand back, thinking the girl is giving him money.

“Silly!” Sara laughs. “I just decided not to wait until I get back.”

“Interesting,” Sean unfolds the paper. “The most beautiful little bird I’ve ever seen. After you, of course. Did you draw this just now?”

“Yes, while we were driving. Sorry, it’s not that great. The car was shaking, but I tried to draw it as nicely as possible,” the girl says modestly.

“You have talent,” the guy notes, comparing the drawing and the artist.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” the artist waves him off, embarrassed.

“I speak as a true connoisseur of beauty,” Sean seriously insists, tucking the drawing into the left inside pocket of his light jacket.

“I hope we see each other again,” Sara smiles hopefully.

“I hope so too. Are you here for long?” the guy tries to find out as much as possible, so he knows what he can count on.

“All summer, I hope,” it’s simultaneously so hard to keep silent and to say what you’re thinking.

“I hope so too,” all of Sean’s hope shines with a bright flame in his eyes, staring intently into Sara’s. The girl tries to meet his gaze, resisting the bright sun, squinting slightly.

“Here,” Sean takes off his sunglasses and hands them to her.

“But what about you without them?” the girl hesitates to accept the needed and pleasant gift.

“I’ll manage somehow,” Sean smirks, happy that the gift will be useful.

“Thank you,” Sara immediately puts the glasses on. She sighs with relief. The wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead instantly smooth out.

“Now, off you go. You need to sleep,” he lightly runs his fingertips along her arm from her shoulder to her wrist.

“Okay,” Sara smiles, slowly walking towards the small cluster of locals who have gathered. She desperately wants Sean to wait there and spend time together, but that won’t happen because of the young people’s shyness and indecision.

The local women greet a sleepy Sara with loud voices, swarming toward her like a hive. Most of their offers are in French. A few try to speak in funny, broken English, having spotted the unusual tourist who clearly struggles with the local dialect.

“You need lodging?” the first housewife attempts to grab Sara’s attention.

“There are many interesting options,” the second landlady joins in with even greater fervor.

“Girl, I know exactly what you need,” says a well-groomed and striking woman, speaking calmly and confidently.

“Let’s step aside,” Sara speaks excellent French, but she prioritizes the potential landlords who try to speak in her native tongue, appreciating their effort and touching concern for her, even if their motives are self-serving.

“I need inexpensive, cozy lodging. For the whole summer, I think. Preferably away from the town center and a bit quieter,” she says, selecting a few lucky women and moving them aside to calmly discuss the key details. Unexpectedly for the chosen few, she switches to French fluently and easily, noticeably making their lives easier. Instead of slow, clumsy English, pure local dialect flows. Somehow, Sara understands almost every word spoken.

“We’ll find you a place. Start with the other two options so you won’t have any doubts later,” the striking woman smiles confidently.

“All right, we’ll do that,” the girl agrees with interest.

Sara carefully studies the view from the window in the first house, the bed, and the landlady herself. She leaves to look at the second option. This one seems a little better, but it’s still not what the girl needs. She goes to view the last offer. The third option turns out to be the best. This is where a satisfied Sara stays.

“Here, take this. These are your personal keys to the room. You can lock it, or you can leave the room open. It’s safe here. If you need anything, just tell me, I’ll take care of it,” the hostess says, welcoming the lodger with care.

“Thank you very much,” the girl accepts the keys with a smile.

Sara goes up to the second floor. She opens the room door with her key. Carefully and quickly, she places the suitcase to the right of the entrance, freeing herself from the heavy, though pleasant, burden. She walks straight onto the balcony. She’s been lucky with the accommodation. The house is on the outskirts of town. The windows don’t face neighboring houses, as they did in the other options. The view of the fields and vineyards is much more interesting and pleasing. Besides, the house’s distance from the center makes the rent many times cheaper, meaning more money will be left over for everything else. A perfect choice. Sara is pleased with herself and her decision.

Immediately, she makes the double bed with the linens the landlady provided. She takes a bath towel and walks with a tired gait to the shower. After nine hours of flying and an hour of driving, a warm shower feels like sheer bliss. Without watching the time, she stands under the waterfall, simply savoring the moment. After the simple enjoyment, she gently wipes the moisture from her body with the soft, sweet-smelling towel. She doesn’t rub different creams and lotions into her clean skin as she usually does. She wants to stay completely clean for a little longer.

Sara lies down on the bed. She covers herself with a simple sheet scattered with wildflowers that seem to have moved onto the fabric from the fields outside the window. A soft mattress without poking springs, unlike the one back home, and airy pillows in which her head sinks as if into a cloud. A general feeling of lightness and serenity sweeps over Sara’s body and soul. Sinking into the embrace of the bed, she doesn’t even notice when she drifts off into a gentle sleep.

“Why are you here again?” she whispers, looking at Sean and realizing she’s in a car. “We said goodbye, didn’t we? Did you come back for me?” the road again, Sandy with her dusty inner world.

They are driving on a different road. The highway is clearly American. The places are achingly familiar. Houses are visible in the distance. They enter a town. Everything feels so close and yet alien. Sara looks around, not recognizing the area. A sign on one of the stores refreshes her memory. A shoe store in Dayton.

“I bought my shoes for high school graduation here,” she remembers in a whisper. “I was choosing my dress at the store next door. They sell the best designs in the whole town. The raspberry-colored fitted dress I chose then didn’t fit. They couldn’t find one suitable for me,” the girl laughs at her own words. “And the day before the graduation party, I pricked all my fingers while I was adjusting the dress to fit my figure. But I became the prom queen. My cherished dream came true. I look back and smile now, but then I was overwhelmed with delight. It’s a bit strange,” she looks around in surprise. “Dayton isn’t a crowded city at all, but this is too much. It can’t be.”

There is no one at all on the streets. The shelves in all the stores are empty. The entire city is deserted. Not a single living creature. Even the birds, of which there were always more than people here, have abandoned the city. Only Sara and Sean walk on the empty streets. The places connected with Dayton have disappeared. It feels as if the girl has entered her own subconscious. Having left her hometown, she forgot everything. The memory that stores her past in Dayton is simply erased. Houses crumble, dissolving into dust in the air right in front of them.

Nothing remains where her hometown, known by heart from years of living here, used to be. The deserted asphalt streets have turned into endless fields thickly strewn with wildflowers, just like here in Solyè. The sound of chirping is heard from afar.

“Hello. I’m happy for you. You’re finally free,” Sara stretches her hands forward. A red-yellow-and-blue bird with blue eyes like Sara’s lands on her palm. She brings the little one closer, strokes it, and releases it with a smile, lifting her arms as high as possible.

The bird flies away. Sara finds herself in her bed, in the new comfortable bed among the blooming meadows of the bed linen. Everything is exactly as it was before the strange dream, except the sun has shifted in the sky, leaning toward sunset. She slept for several hours. Time not lost, but rather necessary for rest and relaxation. If you don’t rest properly right after a journey, you’ll feel tired all the time afterward. She closes her eyes, checking if she wants to sleep. She’s well-rested.

“And what do I do now?” she gets up, washes her face, and steps out onto the semicircular balcony, gracefully entwined with grapevines. “Did these fields and vineyards also grow on the ruins of a disappeared city?” she ponders seriously. “What nonsense. It’s just a dream. A strange dream. Everything looked as if Dayton vanished from my memory the moment I left. Everything connected to it disappeared,” she strains to recall what she saw. “It’s nice that Sean was there with me. An interesting bird. She is free now. The colors are strange, though. I have blue eyes too, like hers. Wheat-colored hair, pale skin, and the only blue thing in my wardrobe is a T-shirt with a gold-embroidered ‘s'. None of it matters, the main thing is, I’m free,” she smiles again, brushing off the bad thoughts.

Requests for food rumble in her stomach. She feels hungry. She casually gathers her hair, clipping it with her favorite hairpin, bought the day she started college. Among the creative people of Dayton, the practical accessory is in unusual demand. Long and thin, decorated with an abstract African pattern, it holds her hair perfectly with its tiny teeth, preventing it from scattering even when running.

She finds a pair of short, lemon-yellow shorts, bought the day before she left. Perhaps that was the yellow color in the dream. She doesn’t immediately remember, although it’s the only yellow item in her wardrobe. She puts on a white blouse and white, lightweight, laceless sneakers, slings a white soft cotton bag over her shoulder, smiles welcomingly at herself in the mirror, and puts on the dark sunglasses, a gift from Sean.

“Time to go,” she walks out of the room, happy.

Sara slips past the hosts eating on the first floor. She quickly disappears into the town’s narrow streets. At first, she gets a little lost—maybe even on purpose. Following the voices of the residents, she finds her way to a larger street. Walking towards people carrying bags from one direction, she comes out at a small market.

She’d never seen so many fresh vegetables and fruits, all of them natural, straight from personal gardens and orchards. A fleeting greed overcomes Sara. She immediately grabs everything she can get her hands on. She snaps out of it when she realizes she can’t carry it all home, yet the temptation to buy as much tasty food as possible is strong. Everything smells so good; she wants it all. Another sensible thought pops into her head: the market isn’t going anywhere, and she’s here for the long haul—if everything goes according to plan.

She feels relieved. She takes a few ripe fruits and vegetables—enough for a salad and just to eat something sweet while sitting on the wicker chair on the balcony. There is still time. She decides to get acquainted with Solyè before sunset, before the sun drops below the horizon.

She steps onto a wide, long street, apparently the main one. Wooden benches look harmonious between the low-hanging streetlights on both sides, which are decorated with flowers in white planters. There aren’t many people yet; it’s still too bright out for couples in love or those wanting to enjoy the evening cool after a hot day. Her bright clothes attract the attention of everyone she meets. If it weren’t for the vibrant colors, they might not have met today.

“Sara!” she hears from the other end of the paved street.

“Are you talking to me?” she peers cautiously into the twilight distance.

“What, you don’t recognize me?” the guy runs up, laughing. “We just saw each other, and you already managed to forget me,” the young man says jokingly, feigning offense.

“Sean!” Sara can’t hold back her delight.

“Yep! You recognized me. Did I really change beyond recognition in a couple of hours?”

“No. What? I’m sorry,” the girl stumbles over her words with a smile. “I just woke up recently; I haven’t quite come to my senses yet. I feel a bit lost—the time zone change is definitely making itself known.”

“Yeah, I went through that too. And so have many others. Don’t worry; you’ll get used to it in a couple of days and be just like a local.” Sean looks closely at Sara. “A week, max,” he adds with a sly smile.

“Okay,” the girl accepts the familiar guy’s prediction. “What are you doing here, though?”

“Waiting for you,” Sean replies seriously.

“Waiting?” the girl is surprised. “You couldn’t have known when I’d arrive or if I’d even come.”

“All the roads in Solyè converge on the main street. You would’ve ended up here anyway,” the guy confidently explains.

“And how did you guess the time?” Sara asks, trying to guess the most impossible options.

“I’ve been waiting for you since we parted,” Sean honestly admits.

“That long?” she admires him and feels bad about the trial of waiting.

“It’s only been a few hours,” he brushes off the passing hours as if they were a trifle.

“Only?” Sara is surprised by Sean’s composure and calmness. “For me, a minute of waiting is an achievement.”

“Nonsense. I would’ve waited for you until tomorrow. And really, however long it took for you to arrive.”

“What if I hadn’t come at all?”

“You would’ve come,” he smiles confidently.

“Why so sure?”

“Just sure. And as we see, you came. I was right. I really want some coffee,” he mimics thirst, placing his palm on his stomach and licking his dry lips.

“So that’s why you were waiting!” Sara laughs. “Fine, you confident young man, let’s go; I’ll treat you to coffee.”

“Let’s go,” Sean eagerly takes the initiative. “I know a spot,” he peers down the street.

“How do you know about it?”

“Did you forget? I’ve been waiting a long time,” the guy reminds her with a smile. “I managed to study the whole street in that time.”

“I see what you’re up to,” the girl smiles. “Lead the way quickly; I want coffee myself, and it’s still too early to go to bed. I need to switch to the local time, after all.”

“It’s not far; bear with me a little,” Sean takes the paper bag of vegetables and fruits from Sara. He confidently leads the way for them to explore the area.

It gets dark quickly after sunset on the street. The lanterns light up. Garlands hung thickly on the houses glow with a warm white light. Sara thinks the tiny lights shine brighter than the streetlights, and among the lights, one glows brighter than the rest. She stops across from it. She walks toward it. Sean follows.

They approach the stone wall of the house with open wooden shutters and wildflowers in vases on the windowsills. Sara stares intently at the light, as if making a wish while looking at the brightest star in the entire sky. After standing for a bit, they continue their walk along the garland. Here, they walk together. The rest of the town’s residents and visitors walk along the center of the main street. The young couple finds it cliché to aim for the center in a town remote from the capital. For Sara and Sean, it doesn’t matter. The sidewalk along the garlands is cozier.

They quietly approach a summer restaurant on the right side of the street. They take a two-person table in the corner furthest to the right from the entrance, near the road. In their opinion, it’s the best spot. From here, they can best hear the pleasant melody that a street musician in dark trousers and a white shirt draws from his violin, which is almost matte with age, using a bow. He isn’t begging but earning through art. Sara respects and admires such people. Sean, on the other hand, notices him for the first time. He honestly admits he never noticed street musicians; he was always selfishly thinking about his own things and only listening to his noisy thoughts.

They order a cup of black coffee each with delicate foam. The drink captures their minds the moment the waiter brings the white cups on a silver tray. The divine aroma, mixed with the evening smell of flowers, envelops their consciousness in a haze of desire to taste the fragrant drink.

Sara takes a small sip and freezes. Her blue eyes close from the spicy taste of the hot nectar. She never thought coffee could be so delicious. Everything she tried in Dayton was just an ordinary, dubious-quality and -tasting instant drink that everyone somehow called “coffee.” She realizes the full extent of her mistake regarding that drink. Mentally, she apologizes to the nectar for having drunk something unclear other than it. A bubble appears in the middle of the cup. Sara is magnanimously forgiven.

In the middle of the round table, covered with a thick white tablecloth, sits a clear glass vase with a short scarlet rose. The candle flame flickers from a light breath of the fresh evening breeze, gathering strength from the fields surrounding the town. People around them converse in low voices, mostly in French. Sara and Sean speak English. Other languages are heard nearby, sounding like Italian, Spanish, perhaps German. Could this small town really be so popular with tourists?

Younger and older couples pass by, talking cheerfully and sadly about the past day, year, and life. Some are emotional, while others are so phlegmatic that they seem about to fall asleep while walking. Lonely people examine the road beneath their feet, occasionally looking up at the lanterns holding lamps that cast a yellowish light on passersby. They have their own thoughts, worries, memories, hopes, and regrets.

Sara and Sean listen to each other with rapture, sharing pleasant moments from their lives, trying not to darken the evening with stories shaded in the dark tones of reality. All other voices quiet down when their conversation flows between them. They feel good and bright now, not because of the lanterns and garlands. Their souls are brightened by their acquaintance.

It is the best evening in the girl’s life. In his story, it’s the most unusual. Sara is used to difficult and sad evenings, and Sean spent most of his time at noisy parties, laughing and fooling around with his friends. Unexpectedly, they find themselves at a breaking point in their usual lives, on equal terms and conditions. A turning point is a wonderful and necessary condition for happiness. It can be painful, but it is always for the best.

“I apologize for the untimely interruption,” the waiter approaches the table, carefully setting a glass ashtray, transparent like the vase, on the table.

“It’s nothing. We don’t smoke,” Sara and Sean reassure the young man with a smile.

“We have a catastrophic shortage of ashtrays,” the guy’s tense face relaxes, and he willingly shares his worries.

“We sympathize,” Sean smiles understandingly. “Could you please bring us a bottle of wine that you think is most suitable for tonight?”

“And, if possible, please wash these for us. We’re so hungry,” the girl looks with genuinely hungry eyes, subtly pulling a red apple and early white grapes from the bag, unseen by the customers and management.

“One moment,” the young man in the black waistcoat over his white shirt nods and disappears, quickly running between the tables.

“It’s strange that they’re short of ashtrays,” the girl muses aloud. “I haven’t smelled any smoke the whole time we’ve been here. And if you look closely, almost everyone is smoking,” they turn around and see how many smoking patrons are around.

“We’re lucky; the wind is blowing the other way,” Sean explains with a smile.

“Usually, as a non-smoker, I inevitably end up in a cloud of smoke if even one person is smoking nearby,” Sara shares her observation cheerfully.

“And everyone in my circle smokes,” Sean smiles, realizing the familiar fact. “I managed to stay on the non-smoking side by some miracle.”

“Look, when we arrived at the cafe, almost all the tables were free, and now it would be hard to find even one empty chair. Only if someone leaves this pleasant spot, which is quite doubtful,” the girl is sincerely amazed by the rapid change.

“Yes, we took the table at the right time,” Sean quietly rejoices at their luck.

The young man in the black waistcoat did not keep them waiting long. The waiter skillfully makes his way through the entire summer seating area with a bottle of wine and two tall glasses on the middle of the silver tray. He discreetly returns the washed apple and grapes.

“Excuse the wait,” the waiter expertly opens the bottle with a corkscrew right in front of the guests. The wine’s rich aroma bursts into the air with the pop of the cork freeing itself from the narrow neck. The wine immediately captivates with an unearthly fragrance, just like the local coffee. The couple wonders if the wine will possess them like the divine coffee.

The waiter pours a little red wine into Sean’s glass. Not knowing the rules of etiquette, the guy copies the protagonist of his favorite movie: he lets the wine breathe a little, holds the glass near his nose, inhaling the aroma, puts on a mask of seriousness, takes a small sip, trying to savor the taste, and nods approvingly. The waiter pours the thick burgundy wine into their glasses. The aroma spreads more intensely in the confined space.

“Thank you very much,” Sara nods with a grateful smile.

“Enjoy your evening,” the waiter in the waistcoat places the coffee cups on the tray and withdraws.

“To our acquaintance!” Sean raises his glass like a torch filled with dark fire.

“To a pleasant acquaintance!” Sara supports the first toast in this new place and new company. A pleasant clinking of glasses rings out. The nearest couples look at them with affectionate glances.

“The wine is truly excellent,” Sean remarks, assessing the hidden taste more attentively.

“I totally agree. The waiter knows how to choose the right wine for the evening,” the girl praises.

“I definitely like it here,” Sean looks around, trying to remember everything better.

“Me too,” they sip a little more, dedicating their gratitude to the evening. They eat the apple, grapes, bread, and cheese Sara bought at the small market.

The violinist quietly disappears. The pleasant conversation continues under the rustling of leaves above the summer area. A light romantic melody flows from the restaurant. The manager deliberately didn’t turn on music so as not to interfere with the street musician entertaining the ears and souls of true connoisseurs of beauty. Sara and Sean completely relax in the soothing atmosphere, affected by the rich taste of the wine. She had never drunk anything like it. The coffee amazed the girl, and the wine made her fall in love with it. Sean is charmed by the rich taste and aroma. His admiration intensifies when he looks at Sara’s beauty and sensuality. The air here is permeated with peace, a subtle aroma of wildflowers and vineyards. The intoxicating air bouquet makes their heads spin.

“Shall we take a walk?” Sean suggests, looking into the eyes of the relaxed and captivated Sara.

“Of course, with pleasure,” the girl wanted to suggest it herself but didn’t know the custom.

“I’ll be right back,” Sean walks to the bar counter in the restaurant. He returns with a new bottle of wine. “Was I gone long?” he worries about Sara waiting.

“Everything’s fine,” the girl smiles, meeting the guy. “And what’s that for?”

“We’ll take this one with us,” Sean corks the opened bottle. “We’ll drink this one in a year,” he firmly places the bottles in Sara’s bag.

“You think we’ll meet in a year?” Sara melts with hope.

“I’m not sure of anything else as much as this,” Sean states firmly.

“If you’re so sure, I’ll believe you. That’s how it will be,” she plays along with the guy’s bold confidence.

“Exactly!” he offers his hand to the girl, helping her leave the overly crowded summer seating area of the restaurant.

“Where are we going?” the girl asks.

“Patience. You’ll see in a moment,” Sean replies, not letting go of Sara’s warm hand.

They reach the end of the street and turn right. They walk along an unlit path between houses, looking into the glowing windows, drawn by the light in the night. They turn once more, then again. They leave the narrow alleys between the buildings. They step inside somewhere.

The flame of Sean’s lighter illuminates the metal poles holding up the dome. The guy moves the flame to the wick of a candle standing on a small table. The arbor is lit with a warm glow. They sit down on a large, barkless log, covered with carved inscriptions, initials, and hearts. Sean puts his arm around Sara. The girl snuggles in, absorbing the warmth of the embrace.

“Where are we?” Sara peers past the edges of the candlelight.

“I found this arbor when I parked Sandy.”

“It’s a nice place. The smell of herbs and flowers is much stronger here.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Sean’s smile is visible even in the dim light. “Should I pour more wine?”

“Yes, please,” the girl agrees. “I just shouldn’t get too tipsy. I don’t want to seem like an unworthy girl to the hostess after my first outing.”

“Don’t worry,” Sean reassures her. “We’ll only have a little. There’s more enjoyment than alcohol in this wine.” He sets the uncorked bottle on the table.

“Are we going to drink from the bottle?” Sara laughs, slightly surprised.

“No, of course not!” Sean takes two small cups from his pockets.

“They’re so lovely,” the girl admires, tenderly examining the little glasses.

“I liked them too,” the guy smiles, looking them over.

“Where did you get them?” she asks with interest.

“I bought them at the bar of the restaurant we were just at,” Sean answers contentedly, proud of the right thing he had done, of which there had been few in his life.

“Worthy of praise,” Sara commends him deservedly.

“It wasn’t hard to guess what I had been thinking about for so long,” he smiles, as if he knew in advance how everything would turn out.

“Yes, you had time to think everything through,” Sara smiles, remembering Sean’s wait was greatly beneficial. “And where are you staying?”

“Close by. To be precise, in that house.” Sean points to the house in the darkness. Sara cannot make it out, but she now understands how the guy knows about the arbor. “And where is your house?”

“On the other side of town. I doubt I’d find it at night,” she admits, a little ashamed of her helplessness in the dark, unfamiliar streets.

“I understand your doubts,” Sean smiles warmly. “I also get lost easily in unfamiliar towns at night. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I want to start painting.” Sara dreamily gazes into the darkness of the arbor, thinking about what she needs and where she will go to begin her French creative period. And, most importantly, what exactly she should depict on the canvas.

“That’s great. What will you paint?” the guy voices the main and most difficult question that Sara is asking herself in her thoughts without finding an answer.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out tomorrow by the heart’s command,” the girl answers, hoping for a visit from a Muse with a French accent. “And what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.” He imperceptibly shrugs his shoulders, tired from the day, in the darkness. The candlelight gives away his tense look. Sara noticeably becomes wary.

“What are these inscriptions on the log?” she looks closely at the words and drawings.

“Commemorative inscriptions from lovers and those with a crush,” Sean stands up from the log and sits down on the grass next to the wooden 'canvas'. He takes the candle from the table and pulls a penknife from his pocket. He begins to diligently carve something into the smooth, light surface.

“What are you writing?” Sara asks, hesitant to look so as not to bother him. And she is too tired to make unnecessary movements.

“You’ll know in a minute.” The guy deftly works the knife; the inscription appears surprisingly fast. Sean takes his cup from the table, sets the knife blade against the scratched artwork, and pours a thin stream of the wine onto the blade. The rich liquid fills the drawing, soaking into the wood grain.

“Well, what is it?” Sara is burning with interest.

“Now look.” Sean moves away and offers his hand to Sara. The girl sits down next to him on the soft grass. The candle illuminates the words: “Sara and Sean together, and that won’t change.” Beneath the even letters is a vibrant burgundy heart with perfect edges. The wine has performed the role of paint perfectly, filling the clear boundaries of the letters and the couple’s heart.

“Amazing!” Sara enthusiastically kisses the master of woodcarving on the cheek.

“I’m glad you like it.” A smile spreads across Sean’s face. His efforts are fully rewarded.

“You write beautifully,” Sara remarks, reading their inscription again and again.

“I did my best for us.” Notes of embarrassment and pride sound in his voice.

The phrase completely charms the girl. She kisses Sean on the cheek one more time. The guy turns to her. He looks into her blue eyes with a languid gaze; the girl returns the same look. The young people’s lips merge in a sweet kiss, tart from the wine. The candle tilts in Sean’s hand, and paraffin spills onto his wrist. He restrains himself from pulling his hand away, preserving the tenderness of the moment.

He puts the candle on the table. He stands up and helps Sara to her feet. He forgets about the paraffin. He pours wine into the cups. They leave the arbor. Light appears between the houses, which are arranged in a circle at a large distance from each other. Sean puts his arm around Sara, saving her from the morning chill, and simply because he wants to. The girl presses his arm against herself, removing the paraffin without looking. They sip wine, intensifying the experience of the beautiful moment.

“How beautiful,” Sara whispers, her eyes fixed on the sunrise. The sun rises, fitting entirely between the two houses, touching the straight lines.

“I agree,” Sean supports her contentedly. Sara understands the guy definitely knew this would happen. He earns another 'plus' from her.

After enjoying the sunrise, the new couple that has emerged on French soil walks through early morning Solyè toward Sara’s house. They reach the correct place around eight in the morning, when the sun is high enough to illuminate the town. Sean walks Sara to the very door. He sets the bag of vegetables and fruit on the paved road, holding onto the bottle of divine wine. He passionately kisses her cool morning lips, holding her hands.

“I need to go,” Sean whispers, forcing himself, and moves away from the desired girl.

“See you,” Sara smiles faintly, feeling quiet happiness and pleasant fatigue.

“See you soon,” the guy tenderly strokes the shoulders of the sweet girl and gently kisses her. With a sad smile, he takes the bottle of their wine and slowly shuffles through the narrow streets of Solyè, searching for his house.

The hostess is greeting the morning in the kitchen and sees everything. She decides not to spoil the moment for the young people. She quietly returns to her bedroom. Sara slowly goes up to the second floor on the smooth wooden staircase, the same as the log where their inscription remains, exhausted by the pleasant emotions from her first acquaintance with the town. She washes her face with her last remaining strength.

She takes off the bright clothes that helped her meet Sean and lies down to sleep, even though she doesn’t want the evening to end. Sleep smoothly and imperceptibly envelops her tired body completely. Sara plunges into the world of dreams, as if into soft, airy, and sweet marshmallow. She dreams only of Sean. One could not imagine a better dream. The girl does not want to think about anything else.

Now, Sean is the only pleasant image in Sara’s dreams. Everything else she sees that morning unsettles the girl. She dreams they go for a walk again. As the couple approaches the main street, a loud horn, like a steamboat’s, sounds. It’s strange because, as far as she knows, Solyè doesn’t have a port. A steamboat simply has nowhere to come from here.

“What does that mean?” Sara turns to Sean. The guy dissolves in the daylight. All that remains in the girl’s hands is the penknife Sean used to carve a commemorative message on the log, and a little cup, filled to the brim with what she first thought was wine. Taking a sip from it, hoping to taste the marvelous flavor again, she realizes it isn’t wine at all. The dream somewhat softens the horror the girl feels when she understands the cup contains blood. Dark, thick blood. Her sleeping body shudders.

Sara wakes up in terror from the sight. She lies motionless on the soft bed, staring with wide-open eyes at the white ceiling. She can’t believe what she saw. Everything looked so realistic. Even the taste of blood in the cup. She tries to clear the dream from her mind. Everything fades except the knife and the cup. It’s always like that in life. The one thing you need to forget stays in your memory for a long time.

She finds the strength to collect herself and get out of the soft, captivating bed. She puts on loose white shorts that are interestingly splattered with oil paints of all colors; if you look closely, you can see drawings. She throws a sloppy shirt with torn-off sleeves over her very feminine shoulders. She fastens the mother-of-pearl buttons. She grabs the horrible coffee from Dayton from her suitcase and goes downstairs to the kitchen barefoot.

No one’s there. She puts the kettle on. While the water heats, she looks out the window. The view from here is the same as from her room. Everything looks different from another angle. Large bubbles burst out of the water. She pours it into the mug with the ‘coffee’ and sugar. A smell rises into the air that seems like a sacrilege after the excellent coffee at the summer café. An unforgettable introduction to a beautiful taste that complemented the joy of her time with Sean. Unexpectedly, the landlady enters. The short, slightly plump woman of about forty-five. She looks at Sara sternly. Wrinkling her nose, she glances at the mug with the dark brew.

“What is ‘that’?” the landlady points a finger at the mug with disgust.

“Coffee,” Sara is ashamed herself to give it such a majestic name, which the incomprehensible liquid hardly deserves.

“My dear, do you even know what coffee is?” the landlady sighs with sympathy. Without hesitation, she pours the mixture of sugar, water, and something else down the sink.

“I do now,” the girl sighs heavily.

“Surely, you don’t have anything better?” the woman, used to the best, is surprised. She wouldn’t even consider trying instant coffee.

“I haven’t seen any. It’s hard to find anything authentic in our stores,” the poor girl drops her eyes sadly to the empty mug.

“How do you even live with that? Now. Sit down for a moment,” the landlady seats Sara on a wooden chair upholstered in dark fabric. It’s so old that it’s unclear what color the fabric is.

“All right,” Sara obediently sits on the chair near the small kitchen window.

“Watch how real coffee is made,” the woman, with expertise, begins the preparation of the black taste’s benchmark.

The landlady takes a wooden hand grinder and a bag of roasted whole coffee beans from the cupboard above the stove. She pours in a few of the dark-brown ‘boats’. She manually grinds the coffee to the required particle size. She turns on the gas. The pressure is weak; the blue flame burns like a few unsteady candles. She lowers the heat. She places a copper cezve over the live flame. She pours in the ground spices. A light, pleasant aroma appears in the kitchen. She adds the freshly ground coffee and shakes it. She pours in water from the pitcher under the window with a small silver spoon. She fixes an attentive, sensitive gaze on the shiny cezve.

Shaggy coffee hills appear on the surface. Without waiting for it to boil, she removes it from the heat. She does this three times. She turns off the gas. She stirs it and lets it settle. She takes two small cups from another cupboard, a little bigger than those in the café. She pours some for herself and Sara. She puts a ceramic sugar bowl on the table. She sits opposite the girl.

The girl doesn’t add sugar. She wants to taste the pure coffee with spices to experience the true, primal flavor. Slowly, she breathes in the aroma of the freshly brewed delight. She takes a small sip. It catches not only her breath but also her thoughts. She remembers all the good things from last night. The landlady watches Sara, whose eyes are closed in pleasure. With a satisfied look on her face, she takes a sip herself.

“Well, how is it?” the landlady doesn’t hide her pride.

“Wonderful! Better than at the summer café on the main street,” she easily and confidently praises the winner in the battle of coffee mastery.

“Of course, it’s better! I worked there twenty years ago and made the coffee. Most customers came to us specifically for it. When I quit, I left them the recipe. I dropped by recently. The young guys still haven’t learned to brew it. Though, I have to admit, they try,” she respectfully speaks of the current successors.

“You’re a true coffee virtuoso,” Sara acknowledges.

“Thank you, dear. Recognition always brings joy, no matter how self-sufficient and confident a person is,” she takes another sip with a look as if she’s drinking pure glory.

“Forgive me, I don’t remember your name,” the girl apologizes with embarrassment.

“First, I’m not so old that you should address me with the formal ‘you’,” the landlady seriously cuts short the attempt to make her older with the address. “Second, I didn’t give you my name,” she looks at the girl playfully and importantly, as if everyone wants to know her name, but only a few are granted such an honor. “Josephine. Josie to you.”

“It suits you,” the impressed girl remarks. “And I’m just Sara. Nice to meet you.”

“I agree. What could be better than a pleasant acquaintance with a pleasant person over a cup of fragrant morning coffee. It’s a great rarity nowadays,” Josie takes a small sip, nodding contentedly. “How did you end up here?”

“I don’t even know, I chose the place at random. Now I realize I didn’t come here just by chance,” Sara muses. “Everything is lining up as if according to a pre-written script. As if this is how it should be.”

“We all live as if by a script,” the landlady agrees. “I used to be surprised myself by how wonderfully events unfolded, but now I understand. Everything that happens in our lives is a unique script. And you shouldn’t be surprised by anything. You just need to follow the lines, paragraphs, and pages in search of yourself among the events, stumbling over the letters that just fall at your feet. We stumble, fall, and get bumps. We get up and keep going. Letters in life are essential, otherwise there won’t be words. The script won’t be finished. That’s the whole principle of human life’s structure. I advise you not to overcomplicate it.”

“Now I realize it too,” the pensive girl sighs heavily. She takes a small sip of the divine beverage.

“Why is there so much sadness in your sigh?” the landlady asks, gazing into her companion’s eyes. “What weighs down a young soul? It shouldn’t be like that.”

“The past won’t let go,” Sara replies sadly, glancing out the window.

“But didn’t you let go of the past in your strange dream?” Josie wonders.

“How do you know what I dreamed?” the girl puts down her cup so she doesn’t drop it in surprise.

“I know everything that happens in my house,” The woman’s confident smile returns to her face.

“How? How can you know? I know landlords know much more about their house than guests. But for a guest’s dreams to cease to be a secret. That’s unusual.”

“It’s given to me,” Josie admits sadly. “I can’t say where it comes from, I don’t know. You saw for yourself, the entire past dissolved before your eyes. Your former life has transitioned into your present one. The boy is a guide to a new life. And the little bird—that’s you. Didn’t you guess? You let yourself go, found, and accepted freedom. A new life has begun. And stop being surprised by changes. Everything new always holds changes, without which the future won’t arrive.”

“I had an idea,” Sara whispers, deep in thought. “I’m not used to taking such confusing dreams seriously. I’ve never been able to understand unusual events and images. I lacked the intelligence and presence of mind. I guess I haven’t been given what you have.”

“And you don’t need to be! It’s good you didn’t take it to heart. It’s not about intelligence or presence of mind. Your subconscious didn’t let you go where you shouldn’t. If you delve in the wrong direction, nothing good will come of it. Sometimes serious mistakes lead to the madhouse,” Josie looks at the girl seriously to convince her of her words and prevent her from making mistakes.

“So, can I let go of the dream about Sean and forget it? Does it mean nothing?” Sara doesn’t want to lose the only pleasant image.

“I’m sorry, I can’t say. It’s his fate. I have no moral right to interfere. If your destinies crossed, be sure, it’s your destiny, too. It is strictly forbidden to interfere in two destinies at once. And don’t ask. I’ll gladly brew coffee, but I won’t interfere in your lives,” the landlady warns resolutely.

“I understand. Can you at least hint at what the dream meant?”

“Be ready,” Josie whispers, looking into the girl’s guarded eyes.

“Ready for what?” Sara is slightly anxious.

“Just be ready,” the landlady repeats more calmly. “Enjoy the pleasant moments of life, then the future won’t affect you. At least, it will pass easier.”

“All right, I’ll try,” the girl obediently accepts the wise advice of the enigmatic Josie. The woman’s strangeness doesn’t frighten her, but rather evokes respect.

“Do you have everything you need?” the landlady looks out the window seriously.

“What are you talking about?” Sara looks out the window to understand Josie’s words.

“Paints, solvent, brushes. What else do you need there?” she clarifies the question.

“How did you guess I’m going to paint? Were you given that, too?”

“Even a little girl would guess,” Josie laughs. “You have so much paint on your clothes. You could paint my whole house in a rainbow. You’re a rainbow yourself.”

“I think I have everything,” Sara replies with a smile. “But I need to buy lemon yellow.”

“If you like, I can take you to the shop you need,” Josie offers willingly.

“Is there one here?” On the way to Solyè, the girl regretted not buying everything she needed in the big city, fearing there would be nothing here.

“Yes, you’re lucky. It opened less than a month ago. Now I understand, especially for you,” the landlady smiles, as if a laid-out solitaire has miraculously come together.

“Now I understand, too. Would it be too much trouble for you to go there with me?”

“Me? Of course, it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I’m so fed up with everything that I’d gladly walk to the ends of the earth for a stroll,” the woman has been dreaming of a walk for a long time.

“So, shall we go?” Sara jumps up enthusiastically.

“Just don’t offend the coffee,” Josie stops her seriously.

“How did I offend it?” the girl is distressed.

“When you take a mug of coffee in your hands, you acquire its soul. If you start drinking, finish it. So that its soul soaks into yours and makes you richer, more saturated. It generously gives itself completely to you. Don’t leave it to die at the bottom of a porcelain cup. Sincere openness doesn’t deserve careless treatment.”

“What if there’s too much coffee for one person and you can’t finish it?”

“That’s why coffee cups are so small. Drinking coffee from large mugs, knowing you won’t finish it, is mockery of the coffee’s soul.”

“Now I know. Thank you for telling me. Was I tormenting the coffee all this time?” Sara looks at the mug with horror.

“No, of course not!” Josie laughs. “You can’t even call ‘that’ coffee.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t drink real coffee before,” the girl returns to her chair. She sensitively finishes the fragrant dark beverage. “Thank you, excellent Coffee. And thank you, Josie, for a pleasant morning,” Sara stands up, ready to head to the shop for the bright colors of life.

“I’m always ready to show the unaware how to enjoy life without offending anyone,” the woman is flattered by the girl’s attention.

“That’s a wonderful quality, for which I offer special thanks,” Sara’s mood is getting better and better.

“Call on me anytime,” Josie nods, smiling. “Shall we go?”

“We can!” Sara is delighted like a child at the chance to go to the coveted shop.

Josie goes to her room to change. After a short while, she returns, not in her old worn skirt and tattered blouse, but in a long blue dress with pink flowers. A coral necklace adorns the strong woman’s neck, and earrings with delicate coral drops dangle from her earlobes. Her lips are brighter, coated with a thin layer of juicy-pink lipstick.

Sara can’t suppress her surprise. Josie steps out of the house first, her low heels tapping on her light-colored shoes. A floral aroma trails after her, as if the living flowers on the dress are giving off a scent. Sara, numb with amazement, can’t understand how the hostess so quickly and boldly transformed herself from a housekeeper into an attractive, vibrant lady.

Without saying a word, the young woman follows, feeling a little self-conscious of her paint-stained clothes. The unpleasant thoughts gradually leave her clear, liberated mind. She doesn’t know anyone here, and no one knows the young woman who just arrived in Solyè. If the hostess didn’t ask Sara to change, then it simply doesn’t matter at all. That’s a relief.

Josie strides with victorious pride in her billowing dress down the narrow streets of her small town, heading toward the shop Sara needs. All the passersby greet her. She responds to all the greetings with dignity. Next to her, Sara feels like a small, clumsy girl being taken to a children’s store to buy ribbons.

After a few short blocks, they notice the desired shop on the right side. The name “Ancien Artiste“ is inscribed by a master’s hand on a canvas in a picture frame. The keyword is clearly highlighted among the colored spots scattered by the artist’s free brush, much like the stains on Sara’s clothing.

The young woman walks the remaining steps, holding her breath in anticipation. Such moments always capture her complete attention. Josie enters first. A small, delicate bell announces the two ladies’ visit to the shop owner. It’s a true, small paradise for artists and creative people in general. There are only three of them inside. They can calmly examine the displays without bumping into other visitors. Sara hadn’t seen such an abundance in Dayton. And she hasn’t been anywhere else.

Paints of every available color immediately draw the young woman’s attention. Pencils of various types and hardnesses remind her of the hours spent learning to draw in childhood. White and colored chalk sticks are associated with children’s artwork on roads and sidewalks. Drawing boards, long and short brushes, wide and narrow, soft and stiff, synthetic and natural. Handmade palette knives reveal the creator’s mastery. Colored paper of various sizes and weights, easels, palettes, canvases, frames. Everything anyone could want to enrich their inner world and share their feelings with others.

Every artist, deep down, wishes to personally possess such riches. Some prefer to visit such places just to look and imagine using all the variety. And in old age, when a hand can no longer hold even a thin brush or pencil, one would want to run such a shop to never lose the connection with the beautiful and mysterious world of creation until the last day, helping aspiring artists and professionals find themselves and make the world more beautiful.

“May I be of assistance?” the shop owner courteously addresses his pleasant guests.

“It’s a shame we can’t order everything so you could help us as much as possible,” Sara replies with a smile.

“I see you know about the arts firsthand,” the gray-haired, medium-built man with a kind face remarks respectfully, looking at the young woman’s colorfully transformed attire.

“So far, I've only managed to master clothing canvases,” they laugh good-naturedly, appreciating the young woman’s sense of humor.

“What would you like to purchase?” the man expertly runs his hand along the counter closest to him.

“I need paints,” Sara says uncertainly. Her eyes dart around at the abundance of colors displayed on the shelves.

“Allow me to guess,” the salesman says, squinting.

“Of course, go ahead and guess,” after the conversation with Josie over coffee, the young woman finds it interesting to hear people’s unusual conjectures.

“You need two colors: blood-red and lemon-yellow,” the salesman declares confidently.

“Lemon-yellow,” the young woman is surprised by the correct guess. “How did you know?”

“The eye is trained to notice important details,” the man carefully fills the order he himself named.

“What details gave me away?” Sara asks, suspecting the shop owner of having magical abilities.

“These two colors are abundant on your clothes. It’s not hard to guess they’ll soon run out, if they haven’t already,” the salesman explains simply and clearly.

“You’re right. And I need the blood-red, too,” Sara remembers that there’s very little of that color left.

“Allow me to offer you titanium white of the highest quality. I highly recommend it. You can never have too much of it. And a wonderful brush,” the man hands Sara a case covered in purple velvet.

“How beautiful,” Sara gently opens the case. On a mother-of-pearl cushion, like a light down feather, rests a slender mahogany brush with natural bristles, seemingly alive. “And how much is this marvel worth?” she then notices the price. Her breath catches sharply. “I'm sorry, I can’t afford it,” she slowly returns the case to the salesman, her enchanted gaze fixed on the brush.

“I am giving you this marvel,” the salesman replies with a smile. He returns the brush to its new owner, who has properly appreciated the master’s creation, using both hands.

“Oh no, I can’t accept such a valuable gift,” Sara wants so badly to take it and not give it back to anyone, even if she never makes a single stroke with the marvelous brush.

“Yes, you certainly can,” the man insists. “It will be my great honor. Gifts from the heart cannot be rejected or returned. You could insult a person to the core.”

“Why would it be a great honor?” Sara is surprised, not sensing her own importance. “I'm not a world-famous artist.”

“It’s all ahead of you. You are the first customer since the shop opened,” the man smiles sadly.

“How can that be?” the young woman is astonished, horrified by the underappreciation of the little paradise in the town. “You opened a whole month ago. You should be turning customers away. A true treasure trove of joy for an artist. I don’t understand how anyone could walk past and not buy something, even if they aren’t an artist.”

“I thought so, too,” the salesman smiles. “As you can see, the dreamy thoughts turned out to be untrue, much like your feelings for me. Artists are prone to making mistakes because they are constantly in creative pursuit. Mistakes are the best helper in this difficult craft. We are both on the path to perfection.”

“I sincerely regret that your wonderful shop doesn’t receive the worthy and deserved demand,” Sara sympathizes with the man wholeheartedly.

“What can you do,” the gray-haired salesman sighs resignedly. “Nowadays, humanity is more interested in the instant snapshot of what’s seen than the process of searching on canvas for the soul and the very essence of everything deeper and further.”

“Yes, to our great regret, you’re right,” the young woman is forced to agree. “Photography equipment is sold almost everywhere, but gems like your shop are met ten times less often. Hardly anyone hears about them.”

“Allow me to wrap up your purchases,” the salesman takes out a colorful little bag with the name of the creative paradise. He carefully places the acquisitions inside, putting his soul into every movement.

“Alright,” Sara hands him the case with the 'living' brush. The man carefully wraps his creation in gift paper and puts it into the bag with the paints. He adds the color burgundy. That’s the exact color wine Sara and Sean drank last night. The young woman smiles at the coincidence. Not only does she not refuse it, but she also thanks him with a separate glance.

“Here you are,” the man hands Sara the bag with her purchases, showing on paper how much a piece of paradise costs, not including the brush.

“Why don’t you say the price out loud?” the young woman asks about this curious detail purely out of interest.

“In art, money doesn’t matter and isn’t worthy of being spoken aloud. Creative and soulful endeavors are priceless,” the salesman explains seriously.

“I absolutely agree with you!” Sara supports him. “And yet, without money, creativity and the soul can perish in an exhausted body without food and clothing, paints and brushes, which require that very money,” she takes the necessary amount from her purse and subtly hands him a little extra.

“You are right, reality is this way. Thank you for this visit, which is so valuable to me,” the generous shop owner smiles warmly and kindly.

“Thank you so much for your help. What would I have done without you,” for Sara, these purchases are the true salvation of her French creative period.

“I’m glad I could help,” the man now speaks as if to a friend, not just a customer, though the attitude isn’t significantly different in either case.

“You did even more! You gave me joy,” Sara’s smile says it all without having to voice it. Her bright emotions are noticeable even in silence.

“You bring joy and warmth to an old artist’s heart,” the salesman’s eyes light up with happiness as he tries not to show his tears.

“A heart rich with an artist’s life never grows old,” Sara remarks, hoping she will believe that pleasant truth her whole life.

“You’re right,” the man smiles. “And appearance is a painting that time creates. But a clever artist can embellish life.”

“Never give up hope; everything will work out!” Sara assures him, wishing the man only the best.

“I’ll try,” he smiles sadly, waving a final artistic goodbye to the only visitors since the opening day. The farewell chimes of the little bell on the front door ring out.

Sara and Josie exit the artist’s haven of dreams. A smile, resilient to life’s adversities, stays on the girl’s face. She has never been to shops like this before. For her art, she had only managed to acquire meager sets of faded paints, significantly older than Sara herself.

The institute’s budget didn’t allow for the purchase of high-quality modern paints. They bought cheap remnants from past centuries. Brushes always had to be soaked. They used them until the bristles began to fall out. Now, the countless treasures are still before Sara’s eyes, happily absorbed into her youthful memory for a long time.

A bag containing the paints and a valuable gift gives her right hand a pleasant tug. If the man hadn’t gifted her the brush, she would have bought it herself despite the high price. He only needed to persuade her, and she would have immediately yielded to the already strong temptation.

Sara has only been here for the second day, but many joyful events have already happened to her, crossing out and erasing all the bad things that had come before. Now, she only wants to paint and spend time with Sean. An interest creeps into her bright thoughts: where the kind person is now, what he is doing, and when they will see each other again. Unfortunately, not all questions have answers.

“Satisfied?” Judging by the artists' conversation and the girl’s glowing appearance, Josie knows she has done her new friend a favor.

“To be honest, I'm thrilled!” Sara doesn’t exaggerate in the least, genuinely happy.

“Did you buy everything you need? Can you create now?” Josie encourages her.

“More than I planned. I think the seller also included the solvent. I didn’t want to bring any from home. You can find that everywhere. I’m ready to paint!” the girl declares resolutely.

“Did you memorize the way? Now you know where to go for artistic supplies,” her friend smiles, pleased with the girl’s own smile.

“I do. Thank you so much! I mean, thank you, Josie!” Sara corrects herself, noticing the hostess’s jokingly sideways glance.

“Always happy to help. Now you can go by yourself. You won’t need me anymore,” the woman hides a hint of sadness in her voice.

“If you want, we can go together. I’d be happy to have your company,” for Sara, it is important to go to pleasant places with pleasant people. Josie is a perfect fit.

“Really? You’ll take me with you?” the hostess can’t believe it.

“Of course! Without you, I wouldn’t have even known about the marvelous little shop. And I like your company.”

“Thank you. I’d be happy to go anywhere with you, just to not sit at home. The market is one thing. It’s noisy there, lots of acquaintances, you have to greet everyone and talk, but here it’s quiet and peaceful. I just hope the shop doesn’t close.”

“I understand. I always try to take more walks in quiet places to distract myself and clear my head. Let’s hope it doesn’t close. How did you find out about the wonderful little shop?”

“A friend told me. She passes by here every day. She noticed the bright, unusual sign, and when she looked closer, she realized that no one ever goes inside, so she shared her observation.”

“It’s sad to watch the flowers of hope wither,” the thought of 'Ancien Artiste' closing down depresses her.

“What are you talking about?” Josie clarifies.

“The man specially opened such a necessary and indispensable shop for creative people. Sometimes you have to be a realist. Due to a complete lack of demand, a small paradise won’t last long. I hope I'm wrong.”

“Yes, it’s sad,” Josie agrees. “He’s a good man; you can tell right away.”

“Did you notice how genuinely friendly and responsive he is, and most importantly, warm-heartedly polite?”

“I did notice. A good man,” Josie repeats. There aren’t many people you can say that about.

The pleasant walk comes to an unexpected end. They became so absorbed in the topic of the shop and its owner that they didn’t notice they had arrived home. On the way, the hostess managed to buy some vegetables and fresh, fragrant bread. Sara wanted to go upstairs to paint with her new colors, but Josie wouldn’t let her go without a large plate of hot and incredibly delicious home-cooked food. Sara asked for the name of the dish, but the hostess couldn’t remember. She has been cooking delicacies for a long time but forgets the names because the most important thing about a dish isn’t the name, but the authentic taste and the heartfelt warmth you share through food with those you treat.

Having eaten her fill, Sara makes it to her room. After such a hearty and delicious lunch, she has no energy left for art. Now, she wants to sleep. The time-zone change is also making itself known. Her disrupted biological clock is clouding her mind. She lies down on the bed without removing her clothes, completely relaxes to get a good rest, and then starts on her plan with renewed energy.

Vivid colors, like in the artist’s supply store, dominate the dream. The experienced emotions amplify the joy. A rainbow pales on the horizon of the green meadow. Gray clouds are pulling across the blue sky. The wind blows from all sides at once, lifting the terrified girl into the rainy sky. Among the leaden clouds, Sara sees Sean. Non-rain droplets stream down his face. The clouds haven’t yet burst into a heavy downpour.

Real tears flow from the guy’s sad, glassy, motionless eyes. What is this? Why is he crying? Such questions echo in the girl’s head. She can’t ask them and get an answer. She reaches her hands toward him. The guy reaches back, but the wind carries him away from her.

Sean tries to say something; his lips move like a fish greedily gasping for air on the bank. She strains with all her might, her thin arms bending and pressing to her body as if someone is binding them. Strong rain whips her face in a gust. Sara feels thousands of cold droplets hitting her face and body. The rain beats so relentlessly that she can’t inhale. She suffocates. A crushing pain in her lungs comes from the lack of the vital oxygen.

Sara wakes up, taking a deep breath. She lies petrified. She tries to catch her breath. This has never happened to her before, not even in a dream. While she lies there, it grows dark outside the window. She gradually returns to a normal state. She switches on the small lamp near the bed. She won’t be drawing a landscape today.

To avoid wasting precious time, she decides to start creating in the lamplight. To draw, she doesn’t necessarily need to be fed by the sun’s light or look at something in front of her; it’s enough to look within herself, open the secret recesses of imagination, and draw the light of inspiration from there. That’s exactly what Sara does. It’s not her first time. She’s never had picturesque landscapes or people whose faces are so beautiful they make her want to instantly immortalize them on canvas before her eyes.

She takes a small, folding easel from her suitcase—it has not a single drop of varnish on its light, polished wooden sides. She sets the prepared canvas, stretched evenly on the frame. She picks up her old palette with dried paints. She rarely scrapes them off, most likely afraid she might offend the god of creativity, for they are his treasures.

She squeezes out lemon-yellow paint from the tube first, then blood-red. She has two colors today. She decorates lifeless and gloomy dark-gray dreams with the bright colors of life. The yellow juice of the appealing paint is the first to touch the bristle of the familiar brush. The strokes are strong and fluid. The impulsive movements of her hands betray Sara’s worries. She keeps recalling the dreams she saw and Sean. What could it all mean? If she trusts her feelings, nothing good is coming.

The bursts of lemon emotions transition into blood-red strokes on the canvas. The red and yellow colors are surprisingly harmonious in her creation. Warm, solar energy interacts dynamically and contrastingly with the color of life, the color of pure, fresh arterial blood, rich in oxygen and flowing in all living things. There can be no life without warmth, and without life, warmth loses its meaning entirely. Sara applies the paints without any previously planned idea. She pours out the worries and strong emotions accumulated over these days. The result is a colorful map of her emotional state, hidden from the world.

Leaving the fresh paint on the canvas and palette, Sara washes her brushes. There are new, bright smudges on her white shorts and shirt. The painting matures on the easel in the middle of the room. It supports and understands Sara better than anyone. Their colorful experiences are now tinted in the same colors. A new best friend, a friend the girl never had. Now she has two friends: the painting and Josie. And a desired friend. Where he is, she doesn’t know. It’s better not to know where your desired person is than not to have one at all. And it’s better to know than to die in ignorance about how he is and what he feels. You can’t always choose.

Voices sound downstairs. She can’t make out the words. Even the landlady’s voice sounds different. A bell rings in Sara’s room, a little larger than the one in the store. How did she not notice immediately that a bell with a string tied to it hangs in the far left corner? They’re calling her, no doubt. Maybe Sean has arrived. Filled with hope, the girl goes downstairs without changing. It’s more convenient, and there isn’t time. She doesn’t like to keep people waiting.

Descending into the kitchen, she’s greatly surprised. A young man with a bouquet of roses is talking to the landlady—but it isn’t Sean. Her inner joy changes to disappointment, even anger, that she was made to think of her dear one’s visit. The flowers in his hands seem black and white.

“Look who came to see you,” Josie smiles cheerily.

“Who came?” Sara looks disappointed and irritated.

“François, the most handsome boy in Solyè,” the landlady proudly introduces him, as if the first beauty’s arrival in the house is her merit.

“Why doesn’t he speak for himself? Or are the most handsome boys not supposed to exert themselves, and everyone else does it for them?” Sara delivers sarcastically.

“Why are you so rude to me?” the guy with the bouquet asks, surprised and unaccustomed to such treatment.

“And why should I be affectionate with you?” Josie senses the tension of the moment and quietly retreats into her room.

“I came to you with good intentions,” he holds out the flowers and a bottle of wine.

“I'm sorry, but I didn’t invite you,” Sara takes a step back.

“But allow me,” the young man takes a step forward.

“What do you want?” Sara rigidly holds up her hand, palm facing him, stopping him mid-step.

“I saw you on the street in clothes unusual for our town and became interested,” François says, recalling the sight.

“That’s too bad,” the girl replies dryly.

“But I—“ François whispers quietly, realizing that any further conversation is utterly pointless.

“I don’t know what you are. Maybe you are the most handsome guy in France, but I have my own guy, who’s already better than you because he’s mine. And I will never be yours. Get that straight. And please, don’t forget it in the future.”

“Please accept at least the flowers and wine,” the unwelcome admirer asks one last time.

“Give the flowers to the landlady, and take the wine with you; you’ll need it today to heal your soul wounds. Goodbye,” Sara pronounces every word with harshness and Northern coldness.

The thought of contradicting François doesn’t even arise. He knocks on the landlady’s room door. Josie, as if she were waiting behind the door, opens it immediately. With a satisfied smile, she accepts the bouquet. The harshly rejected, unsuccessful suitor leaves Josephine’s house with the bottle of wine in his lowered hand. The girl and the landlady sit down at the table, looking at each other. Above them, a lamp glows dimly in a dusty red lampshade that resembles Sandy’s dress.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Josie cautiously addresses her. “I'm not prying into your personal life, but why were you so harsh with him?”

“He’s no one to me, and he’ll remain no one,” Sara answers confidently.

“Excuse me for overhearing, but do you have a young man with serious intentions?” the landlady asks, curious.

“I thought you saw him this morning,” the girl replies, surprised.

“I don’t have a habit of peeking,” Josie defends herself with dignity.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sara is afraid of offending the landlady.

“Then what did you mean?” Josie softens a little.

“You were looking in our direction. I thought you saw everything,” the girl shares her thoughts.

“Ah, that’s what you mean,” the landlady laughs at this assumption. “Looking doesn’t mean seeing,” she says with a laugh, taking out her gold-rimmed glasses from the pocket of her apron; the thick lenses distort the pattern on the fabric.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t know,” Sara feels embarrassed for two reasons at once.

“Why apologize? My bad eyesight isn’t because of you,” Josephine returns to her usual state.

“You’re right,” and Sara feels relieved. They both laugh like friends.

“So, you do have a boyfriend,” Josie playfully concludes.

“Yes, I hope so,” the girl answers with a timid smile.

“Are you doubting it?” the landlady seriously clarifies.

“I've already started to,” Sara looks sadly out the window.

“Is he the young man from your dark dreams?” the woman guesses.

“Yes. What do my scary dreams mean?” the girl returns to worrying about the painful topic.

“I cannot interfere. Time itself will show you how things should be,” Josie insists, understanding that the consequences will not be long in coming. And that knowing can hurt more than not knowing.

“Us?” Sara clarifies.

“You are destined for each other. That’s all I can tell you,” the landlady kindly tells the unsure girl the most important thing she wants to hear.

“Good,” Sara reassures the landlady with slight joy and excitement.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Josie smiles, running her hand along Sara’s arm.

“They are rightfully yours,” the girl smiles, remembering the unsuccessful suitor. “It’s your house, which means all the honors and flowers are yours,” they laugh louder.

Josie holds her hand. Sara’s body is paralyzed as Josie looks into her eyes, as if she’s reading a serious book. The smile disappears from the woman’s tense face. Fear grips the girl’s heart. Overcoming the urge to pull her hand away, she trusts the landlady. Horror appears in Josie’s eyes. Even when the face gives away no emotion, the eyes can’t hide anything from someone who knows how to look into them.

Josie’s hand clenches tighter and tighter. It hurts Sara. She has to endure it. The young girl’s fear increases. The constant visual and energetic contact is interrupted by an unexpected doorbell ring, followed by a light knock. The girl flinches. Her hand slips out of Josie’s tight grip. The numb landlady looks at her friend with brightening, reviving eyes.

The doorbell rings again, followed by a light knock on the door. The landlady’s husband grumbles something from his room. Josie recovers and goes to open the door. Sara also stands up, tense from the situation. Her first thought is that François has returned. But the girl is mistaken. Sean stands on the doorstep. Long-awaited Sean. The landlady tactfully withdraws with a light but strained smile.

Sara is sincerely happy about the dear person’s arrival. She waited for him like no one and nothing ever before. The visit is a true surprise. He doesn’t have a large bouquet of roses like François, just a single wild chamomile on a thin stem, but this chamomile turns out to be the dearest flower to her heart. She smells the miniature beauty, closing her eyes. She smiles warmly. Sean stands before her, holding his breath.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” the girl honestly admits, leading him into the kitchen.

“Why?” Sean asks, surprised, sitting on the chair under the window.

“I don’t know. I had more sad thoughts than good and optimistic ones today. That’s why I started to doubt we’d see each other again.”

“Don’t doubt. It’s always like that, somehow,” Sean looks at her understandingly.

“How was your day?” the girl puts the chamomile in a glass of water.

“Let’s go for a walk. I’ll tell you everything,” the young man suggests with a cunning smile.

“Let’s,” she’s happy with the invitation. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he follows Sara with his eyes. He can’t resist looking at her slender legs. And the girl doesn’t mind.

Sara deftly climbs the steps to her floor. She grabs a dry towel from the back of the chair and hurries to the bathroom. After a few fleeting minutes in the shower, she runs out refreshed. She puts on light summer trousers and a blouse. She leaves her hair loose. She puts on light woven sandals of bright leather and goes down to Sean.

The landlady is distracting the guy with conversation. It’s good, so there won’t be an unpleasant feeling from the forced wait. When Sara comes down to him, Sean immediately turns his attention to her. He stands up from the chair. He thanks the landlady for the company. They smile at each other. And the guy steps outside to fulfill his promise of a walk.

Josie catches the edge of Sara’s gaze with her concern. Now the girl is puzzled, wondering what the landlady saw.

“We’re leaving,” Sara follows Sean out.

“Have a pleasant walk,” Josie wishes with a smile. The door closes, cutting off the light spilling from the house onto the street. There is no moon in the sky, but nothing prevents the stars from lighting the couple’s way.

This time, they walk in a different direction. Sara hasn’t had the chance to wander here yet. Sean walks confidently, as if he’s been on these streets many times. They hold hands. Along the way, Sara’s hand accidentally brushes against something in Sean’s pocket. It feels like a folding knife. When the guy sits down to tie his laces, that very penknife she saw in her unsettling dream flashes metal from his pocket. The girl silently wonders why he carries a knife with him all the time.

All the way, Sean tells tall tales and romantic stories. With him, Sara forgets about everything. She likes strolling through unfamiliar night streets in the company of a young man she barely knows, simply because this particular stranger is Sean. They enter a vineyard from the other side of town. Straight, dark-green rows on white stakes stretch into the far, boundless distance. They walk between the rows. Sean stops at a spot where a bush has been uprooted and an open space remains. He pulls a woven basket out from under a surviving bush. Sara watches as a blanket lies flat on the sun-warmed earth. A jug and a bowl of fruit appear.

“Please, come to the table,” Sean invites Sara to sit down.

“Thank you,” they sit with their backs to the night city. You can’t see anything at all past the tall, lush grape bushes. Sean takes a glass and fills it from the jug. He hands it to Sara. He fills his own glass. “What’s that?” she almost spills everything on her light clothes from a sudden rustling sound.

“A rabbit,” the guy laughs when he sees her reaction. “There are lots of them running around here, especially at night. They’re just as timid as you.”

“I beg to differ,” Sara pretends to be offended in jest, and then laughs with the guy.

“To a pleasant evening,” Sean offers a light toast.

“To our pleasant evening,” Sara agrees. They drink with a smile.

“Something wrong?” the guy notices surprise on the girl’s face.

“Everything’s fine,” Sara smiles. “I’m just pleasantly surprised.”

“By what?” he puts down his glass. He pretends not to understand what she means.

“It’s the tastiest grape juice I’ve ever drunk.”

“And what surprised you?”

“The fact that it’s juice.”

“What did you think it was?” he asks, smiling.

“I thought it was wine; they look alike,” she confesses with a smile.

“Yeah, they do look alike,” Sean smiles. “I took juice instead of wine, so we won’t get used to the taste that wine holds. We’ll remember this in a year. The taste will be exactly the same as it was yesterday.”

“That was a good idea,” Sara agrees, sipping some more juice.

“How was your day?” Sean asks, peeling an orange and handing it to her.

“Wonderful!” the girl answers with enthusiasm, taking her favorite fruit. “Josie and I went to an art shop. It’s so great there! It has everything an artist could need. Only no one goes in,” she suddenly gets sad after her own words.

“What’s wrong with the shop?” the guy is surprised and concerned, noticing how important this is to Sara.

“Nothing is wrong, it’s even better than fine. It’s just that things like that aren’t very popular among people these days.”

“I thought creativity would always be in style,” Sean muses.

“That’s true, but apparently not here. There aren’t many artists in the world anyway, compared to everyone else, and Solyè is small. There are none here at all.”

“Now there is one,” Sean winks with a smile. He picks up his glass and lightly touches Sara’s glass.

“We’ll save the creative world of Solyè,” the girl sighs thoughtfully and drinks her juice. “What did you do today?”

“Me?” the guy whispers, noticeably flustered by the unexpected question.

“There’s no one else to ask but you,” Sara smiles, waiting for an answer.

“I had some things to do,” Sean answers dryly and coldly.

“What sort of things?” the guy’s answer puts her on edge.

“Just stuff,” he covers his mouth with his glass.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Sara understands sadly.

“Not tonight, okay?” Sean looks at the girl with a gaze pleading for understanding.

“Alright,” the girl agrees, not wanting to press him. “But when?”

“Soon, I think,” the guy ponders, choosing the right time. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Sara would have agreed to any time, and this answer is much better than “in a year.”

“What else interesting happened today?” Sean returns to discussing the girl’s great day to forget about his own.

“Josie treated me to such delicious coffee, you can’t imagine. It turns out the coffee at the restaurant yesterday was just a poor copy of it.”

“I should try some. If even yesterday’s coffee wasn’t that good, your Josie makes the best coffee in the world,” the guy starts to regret that he didn’t ask her to brew him some coffee while he waited.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case,” Sara muses with a smile. “Also, after the shop and my walk with Josie, I did some drawing.”

“That’s great! What did you draw?” he subtly runs his fingers over the spot where the drawing he was given lies.

“I don’t know, I just drew, and I liked the result.”

“That’s the most important thing. Because getting pleasure from your work is the best way to live your life,” Sean looks at Sara, quietly rejoicing. The girl’s day in the new town went so well. He doesn’t want to ruin everything with an awkward mistake.

“In that case, I found the cherished way,” Sara smiles contentedly.

“My congratulations, and a little piece of envy.”

“Haven’t you found it yet?”

“For now, I have to do what’s necessary, not what brings pleasure. Although, there is some joy in it,” he mentally finds the positives in the activity.

“What stops you from changing things? Why don’t you just do what you love all the time?” It is difficult for Sara to reason about something she doesn’t know. Sean isn’t rushing at all to talk about his business.

“It’s not always easy to do what you want. Only on the pages of romantic books is it easy to change your fate without heavy consequences. In a book, you don’t necessarily need to eat, and on its pages you can even not sleep, and who cares when you’ll have to die,” the guy reflects thoughtfully.

“You are a poet,” Sara notes, pleasantly surprised.

“It just came out,” Sean is surprised himself. “When you talk about great things, your speech is transformed.”

“Somehow, when I talk about great artists, my drawings don’t get any greater,” the girl smiles sadly.

“It only seems that way to you,” Sean strokes Sara’s back consolingly. “Those artists didn’t become great right away either. Many years passed before that happened. By absorbing greatness, you instill a great spirit into your paintings. Only after many years will that spirit attract the right attention from the whole world. Learn one thing from them.”

“And what is that?” Sara can’t help but ask.

“Patience,” the guy smiles. “If you learn to be patient and wait, one day, you will definitely get everything you were patient and worked hard for the whole time.”

“I’ll start learning patience tomorrow,” Sara declares decisively.

“Today,” Sean insists. “If you put everything off until tomorrow, that isn’t cultivating patience, it’s the lazy fear of starting changes right now.”

“Fine. Changes started the day I arrived here, and patience started a minute and a half ago,” the girl is ready for a lot now to change her life for the better.

“Now you’re talking! Let’s drink to you, my dear Sara,” Sean raises his glass filled with dark grape juice.

“Let’s do it,” Sara raises her glass, too. Resisting a smile, she drinks the sweet life of the grape.

After chatting a little longer, the young people lie down next to each other on the soft blanket, which generously shares with them the warmth of the fertile earth heated during the day. They lie quietly, gazing at the stars. Sean names some of the constellations. Sara, in turn, points out a few more stellar patterns, while the rest remain a mystery to them. And that is great, because what is the point of space if you know everything about it? That universal mystery that attracts millions of couples in love every night is lost. Sean tells Sara a legend he heard from his grandfather when he was a little boy with two front teeth missing.

Old Jim, Sean’s grandfather, said that Kosmos is a shortening of the full name of the gloomy giant, Kosmodas. He used to be darker than darkness and occupied all existing space and time. Later, Day appeared. The second giant, who took up the second half of time and space. The giant’s full name is Daytasar. And ever since then, the huge opposites trade places, dividing everything in half.

But Daytasar’s light turned out to be stronger than Kosmodas’s darkness. And it began to penetrate further than his half. That’s how light spots began to appear on Kosmos’s black body, like moles or freckles. That’s how billions of stars came to be. At first, the gloomy giant was indignant, he even wanted to declare war on his brother, but then, when people appeared and began to look at him with admiration, the dark giant’s temper softened. He and Daytasar became friends. As a sign of reconciliation, Daytasar gave Kosmodas a part of his light to look at Earth, and that’s how the Moon appeared. When Kosmodas wants to look at Earth and people, he lights a full moon, illuminating the Earth as if it were daytime.

Sara fell asleep like a child, listening to the fairy tale. Sean takes another light blanket from the basket and covers the girl. A barely noticeable smile is visible on her light face after the story. The guy, touched by Sara’s sweet sleep, also relaxes and allows sleep to enchant him. The young people sleep in the middle of the vineyard. Sean, occasionally waking up, glances carefully to see if Sara has woken up. Making sure the girl is in a deep, childlike sleep, he gently adjusts the blanket and falls asleep again. The cicadas soothe them all night long. In time, Sean stops waking up, too.

Morning returns to Solyè unnoticed. The sun gently strokes the young faces. Somewhere in the distance, a tractor starts its workday. It is this sound that wakes Sean with a light, distant rumble, the way a cat wakes its owners in the morning so they will feed it. Yes, it misses them, but it wants to eat more. Sean wakes Sara with a gentle kiss on the cheek. The girl opens her eyes and stretches. She remembers she is outside, and blushes a little.

“You’re here,” the girl relaxes again and smiles sleepily at Sean, noticing him next to her.

“Of course,” the guy smiles back and gently kisses Sara.

“We slept all night in the vineyard?” the girl realizes, smiling.

“It seems so,” Sean scratches the back of his head.

“Let’s get going, or the steel beast will reach us soon. And people will come with it. I don’t want to see them right now,” the girl hurries the guy.

Sean puts everything back into the basket, and Sara folds the blanket she used to cover herself during the night. After packing up, they walk along the path between the bushes toward the town. Before turning into the narrow streets of Solyè, they turn back to look at the vineyard. The sharp rays of the morning sun pierce the dewdrops on the broad grape leaves. The rabbits run just as swiftly, and birds fly out of the bushes. In the distance, people are working diligently and noisily. The vineyard comes alive again. The wind carries coolness to their faces, the sun turns it into a gentle, warm breeze. Sean hugs and kisses Sara. They smile tenderly at each other. They walk toward the girl’s house, holding hands tightly.

This time, the walk takes a little longer than the walk to the vineyard yesterday. Morning fatigue in their legs and a reluctance to part slows their movements, delaying the moment when Sean will disappear again into a world unknown to Sara. They reach the two-story house. On the first floor, Josie and her husband are habitually having breakfast. The landlady looks in their direction without emotion. She doesn’t see them again because of her poor eyesight.

“I’ll see you soon,” Sean hugs and kisses Sara firmly one more time in farewell. He lets her go with a smile into the new day.

“Soon,” Sara, pleased with the evening, enters the house.

“Look who’s back!” Josie exclaims happily.

“Good morning!” Sara greets the homeowners in high spirits.

“Someone is certainly having a good morning,” Josie winks.

“It’s a wonderful morning!” the girl doesn’t hide her joy.

“Where were you? What were you doing?” the hostess asks immodestly.

“Sleeping in the vineyard,” Sara answers with a smile, closing her eyes as she recalls the feeling.

“Just sleeping?” the homeowner smiles slyly.

“Just sleeping,” the girl replies calmly, without changing her tone.

“See? I told you there’s still romance in this day and age!” the homeowner exclaims happily.

“Oh! Get out of here, René!” Josie swats at him with a towel. She laughs playfully, looking at her husband.

“But René is right,” Sara confirms the homeowner’s words.

“Oh, really! Conspirators!” Josie pretends to be indignant. “No more kindness from me!” smiling, she pours their signature coffee for both of them, not forgetting herself. The rich, spicy aroma fills the kitchen.

“Why are you standing?” René notices.

“I’m still wandering around,” Sara looks out the window dreamily.

“I remember that pleasant feeling,” René says softly with a smile, peering out the window. “You don’t want to go to sleep. You feel so good, and you’re afraid the sensation won’t happen again.”

“Exactly,” Sara quietly agrees. She takes a sip of the smooth, hot coffee, holding the small cup with both hands. The girl’s hands are refined. Her thin fingers intertwine around the white porcelain with blue flowers.

“Oh, you two, you romantics and dreamers,” Josie sighs. Her pensive gaze also drifts somewhere outside the window. Perhaps into the past, or into dreams of a different future and present.

“Did you talk about the stars?” René looks at Sara with interest again.

“We did,” the girl recalls with a pleasant smile.

“Did you drink grape juice?” he guesses as if checking off a list.

“We did,” she takes a small sip.

“Did he cover you with a blanket?” he guesses once more.

“He did,” Sara feels a fresh desire to wrap herself in the warm, cozy blanket.

“He’s a good young man, I approve,” René states paternalistically.

“Thank you,” Sara gets the impression she has received her father’s blessing for marriage to her beloved, although she has only known both men for two days. And this is the first time she has met the homeowner.

“I know Josie tries to act younger and insists on using the informal ‘you’ with young people, but with me, you are welcome to use the respectful ‘you’,” René smiles, pleased that he is the oldest person in the kitchen.

“Deal,” the girl happily accepts the homeowner’s condition. It feels unnatural to use the informal ‘you’ with people twice her age. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go lie down.”

“Of course, child, go on. You need to rest now,” René says caringly. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you for another pleasant morning,” she finishes the last drop of coffee and goes up to her room on the second floor.

She washes her face with cool water. She takes off her clothes and lies down to rest. The coffee keeps her eyes open for a while longer. She lies there, looking at her best friend. The bright two-color painting smiles a knowing smile and looks at her with a friendly gaze. Now, in those two colors, she sees herself and Sean. She is the open and warm yellow color, and Sean is the strong and mysterious red. So different, yet they complement each other. At least, that’s what Sara thinks and wants it to be. The desire to sleep overpowers the effect of the drink. The girl falls into a sleep as deep as the morning coffee.

Nothing. She hadn’t dreamed. She slept without any unpleasant emotions. She was rested. The clock on the small bedside table showed almost twelve. It was definitely time to get up. She decides for herself when to rise. That’s one of the perks of the trip.

It takes a moment for her to notice it. On the same bedside table as the clock lies a slightly yellowed envelope. She must have been sleeping soundly not to have woken up when the letter was delivered. Josie isn’t slender, but her movements are light. She picks up the envelope, turns it over and over, and inspects it carefully. It’s signed in a meticulous handwriting: “Sara.”

It’s tempting to open it right now, but she really doesn’t want to get upset. A letter is like a hand grenade. As long as it’s in the envelope, the pin is in place. The moment you pull the pin, open the envelope, and start reading, you should definitely expect an explosion. The difference between the letter and a real grenade is that the blast will be emotional, not physical. And the colors of the shrapnel will depend entirely on the content.

She opens it carefully. She’s decided to keep the envelope, especially if it’s from Sean. Since childhood, she’s had a habit of saving the wrappers from her favorite chocolates, then looking at them to recall the pleasant moments associated with them. Holding her breath, she pulls out the letter. She glances at it briefly. It’s in English. Most likely, it’s from Sean. She reads it without stopping:

“My dearest Sara,

I hope my letter won’t wake you up. I asked for it to be given to you when you woke up. Thank you for a wonderful night. It’s been a long time since I slept as well as I did in the vineyard. I apologize right away for sleeping the whole night instead of having heart-to-heart conversations.

I'm writing this now and realizing that your scent and the softness of your silky skin are imprinted on my memory. I feel the sweetness of your luscious lips on mine. In your eyes, I see not what they write about in poems and prose—no deep sea, and I don’t see the sky there either. I see you, me, and us. My world is contained within your eyes. Kissing you, I feel like I'm touching my dream brought to life. Holding you, I realize I hold everything I need in this life. You are my everything! Now, when you finish reading this letter, hurry and get dressed and come out to me. I’m waiting for you downstairs.

Yours, Sean“

When the letter’s enchantment releases its magical grip on her emotions, Sara re-reads the last sentence a few times. At first, she thought she’d misread it, then suspected a mistake in the wording, but once the sleep and the charming haze left her mind, she realized the matter was serious. She needed to get dressed immediately.

She runs to the shower. She puts on her only pair of good shorts, gathers her messy hair into a bun, and practically races down the stairs. In the kitchen, she’s met by the hostess’s smile. Sara smiles back and runs out of the house.

There, just as he promised, Sean is waiting in the shadow of the neighboring house. This time, there’s no daisy. Instead, he holds a white rose. The girl hugs the guy and kisses him on the cheek, holding the flower that is as graceful as she is.

“Have you been waiting long?” the girl asks, her tone apologizing for the delay.

“I just got here,” Sean smiles, though his face doesn’t hide his fatigue.

“I’m sorry I slept in so late. I should have come out earlier,” Sara looks at him guiltily.

“Don’t be silly,” Sean reassures her, putting his arm around her waist. “You slept the perfect amount of time. I really did just arrive.”

“Really?” Sara looks straight into his eyes, trying to see the truth.

“Really,” Sean smiles, concealing how long he actually waited.

“Fine, I’ll pretend I believe you,” she squints suspiciously.

“And you’ll be right to do so,” Sean laughs.

“I’m glad you came,” she hugs him tightly and rests her head on his shoulder.

“And I’m glad you came out,” they feel each other’s smiles. “Tell me, am I distracting you too much? Maybe you need to be painting, and here I am.”

“I don’t have a set schedule. I'm free to create whenever I want. And you never distract me,” the relaxed girl assures him with a smile, nestled in her darling’s arms.

“Why? You’re spending time and attention on me when you could be painting a picture.”

“It’s you,” Sara smiles. “And I’m not spending time on you; I'm enjoying time with you. Where do you want to go?”

“I promised to show you what I do,” he reminds her, getting serious. “I want to warn you right away, you might not like it. It’s not too late to back out,” Sean cautions.

“Why do you think that?” Sara isn’t as alarmed now as she used to be at the slightest deviation from the norm.

“Society frowns on this kind of work. And the government isn’t thrilled either,” he subtly hints.

“Is it something bad? Illegal?” Sara guesses.

“Let’s just have you see it for yourself and tell me how awful it is,” Sean isn’t rushing to reveal the truth that could cost him happiness with the best girl in the world.

“Alright, show me,” the brave girl decides.

Sean takes Sara by the hand. They head off in a different direction. The same narrow streets with small windows on two-story houses. There’s a certain charm to it, but Sara hasn’t figured out what it is yet. She doesn’t feel like talking, since the only question that interests her right now is where they’re going and what horrible thing Sean is doing. She won’t get the answer ahead of time, and there’s no point in asking.

They try not to show their tension and nervousness. The air grows fresher. The smell changes too. The singing of birds is replaced by the cries of seagulls. They reach the river. Sara’s surprise is a sight to behold; she was so certain she wouldn’t see this much water in Solyè. It had seemed like there was no body of water anywhere near here. It turns out she just hadn’t studied the map well. As always. This inattentiveness follows the girl everywhere.

They walk up to a large dock a few kilometers outside of town. Their feet didn’t notice the distance while they were lost in heavy thoughts. Besides, the weather is nice, overcast and warm, so a walk is a pure joy. Even the tense silence hasn’t spoiled the outing. A nearly new padlock hangs alone on the high gates of the dock. Sean looks around. He takes out a key. He disarms the iron guard. A sharp click.

He glances around one more time just in case, then looks at Sara. The girl nods resolutely. He removes the lock from the hinges and opens the gates. They enter. The doors immediately close behind them. The darkness of the dock is tempered by a stream of light from the roof, shining through a ventilation shaft. Sean’s right hand searches for the light switch, and his left hand firmly holds Sara’s.

The cold fluorescent light of a few lamps under the high ceiling flicks on. Moored in the artificial basin running through the middle of the dock are several yachts. One is dark blue with a red keel, and three are white with thin stripes. All are sailboats. On the sides of the live yachts, gently rocking on the water, are two more beauties in white dresses, sitting on platforms in special stands. Sara squeezes Sean’s hand tighter. The guy realizes it’s time to explain everything to the bewildered and possibly frightened girl.

“My line of work,” Sean says quietly, looking at the yachts.

“Is working with yachts a bad thing?” the girl asks, surprised, looking from the guy to the vessels swaying lightly on the water.

“It’s not that simple. The yachts themselves are wonderful, but the way I'm involved with them will make you wonder about our relationship. More accurately, whether we should keep seeing each other. If you decide to stop meeting, I’ll understand and won’t push it.”

“Try to explain everything in detail so I can understand. Try not to miss a single tiny detail that might be more important than all the arguments. Only then will we decide what to do next,” Sara requests confidently.

“Alright, I’ll try,” Sean sighs softly. “When I was a kid, my dad and I used to go to the river to watch yachts of different shapes, colors, and designs move elegantly and majestically across the water and smoothly spread out. The sail-powered perfections attracted the most attention. That’s when I fell in love with them and decided that when I grew up, I would definitely become the captain of one. My dad gave me a model of a yacht like that. I named her 'Oceania'. We went to the river to launch the beauty every time my dad had a few free minutes. One day we went to a small beach. We checked all the mechanisms and launched her for a sail. A strong wind picked up out of nowhere. The motor couldn’t fight the waves and the current at the same time. My yacht’s sails carried her right under the sharp bow of a real sailing fury that was passing by us then. That day, I lost more than just a yacht.”

“And what else?” Sara guesses that something much more serious happened, something that determined the guy’s future life, which is connected to this business.

“Not 'what,' but 'who'. A hurricane brought black clouds from afar. The rain started pouring down. On the way home, the car slid on the slick road. We flew into a ditch. My dad managed to cover me. The front pillar plunged into his back. He saved me with his life.”

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Sara whispers sadly, hugging Sean.

“Thank you,” he readily returns her caring embrace. “When we were watching the yacht wreckage drift across the water, my dad thought I’d give up the whole thing for good. As you can see, he was wrong. After he died, my mother remarried. My stepfather became a good father, but I couldn’t share my passion for seafaring with him. I spent nights in the garage building model sailboats. Some turned out just like the real thing.”

“Why did you need so many yachts?” Sara looks at all the yachts in the dock.

“I built them, tuned them up, and sold them to the neighborhood boys. I was saving up for a real one.”

“Did you save enough? Is one of these yours?” Sara searches for the yacht that might belong to such a special person as Sean.

“No. All the money I earned went toward my stepfather’s unsuccessful treatment. They found lung cancer. We ran out of money and sold the house. In the end, my second father didn’t survive, and my mother and I were left on the street. I had to look for serious work. No one would hire me for a regular job—young, uneducated. I randomly met some guys from France who came to our town for business. Then they brought me here.”

“So you lied about your friends not being able to come?” Sara guesses, disappointed.

“That was all true. I wanted to go try my luck. They said you could get work on the farms in Europe. And when my friends backed out and you headed to Solyè, I knew it was fate. While you were looking for a place to live, I went to see the guys and agreed to work with them.”

“So what exactly do you all do?” Sara clarifies, so she can make the most accurate decision about what she thinks of all this.

“We take yachts from people who can afford an expensive toy and sell them to other people who want to enjoy true beauty but don’t have much money,” the guy presents it as a noble cause.

“You steal yachts?” Sara notices Sean’s evasion.

“We help make dreams come true. Thanks to us, many people who can’t afford a yacht end up getting one.”

“And what do you do here?” she looks over the vessels on the stands, trying to understand the full picture.

“We repaint them, sometimes modify them, and then sell them as completely different yachts. In a way, it’s a creative job, too.”

“Have you only just started with the creative work?” the girl asks seriously.

“Yes, just now,” Sean answers confidently, looking straight into her eyes.

“Then it’s not too late to quit this business.”

“It is too late. Besides, I don’t want to quit.”

“Why?” This answer upsets Sara the most. The business casts doubt on their future relationship.

“They pay well, and my mother needs my help. And here I have the yacht I dreamed of since childhood. And not just one.”

“But they aren’t yours,” Sara tries to bring the guy back to reality, reminding him that not everything can simply be claimed.

“What difference does it make if I can use them?”

“You use them?” the girl is surprised. “Are you even allowed to?”

“Yes, but only at night,” Sean answers calmly.

“That’s dangerous! What if someone notices? You could end up in jail.”

“No one notices in the pitch dark. And they’re not local. We bring them in from far away. Do you want me to prove it’s safe?”

“No, thank you,” Sara realizes that evidence in a matter like this could be even more dangerous than the business itself.

“Why?” Sean is surprised. He can’t understand the girl’s feelings. This kind of work doesn’t scare him after all the years he’s spent in various ways.

“I'm scared,” Sara admits, not hiding her anxiety.

“Tonight, let’s take this beauty out,” Sean points to the dark blue yacht with the red keel. “No one will notice her.”

“Alright,” the girl reluctantly agrees. “But only at night. And only if you’re absolutely sure no one will see.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” the guy assures her, knowing exactly how it’s done.

“Now, let’s get out of here. It’s creepy. The white tarps on the yachts look like ghosts,” Sara shivers slightly, drawing in on herself.

“You’re right. Let’s go for a walk instead,” Sean slightly opens the gates. He peeks out, looks around. He steps out and leads Sara out. He locks the gates behind them.

While they were in the dock, the hot sun reappeared in the sky. They try to walk under the trees along the river, hiding from the sun’s rays. It’s pleasant when it’s warm, but right now, it’s better to keep the mind and body cool so they can think everything over dispassionately. This might be the most important decision in life for both of them.

The tension disappears after what she’s seen. Only confusion and an inner struggle remain. Sara wants to be with Sean, but his work is illegal and could end badly for him and for them. And Sean seems to want to be with her, but he can’t give up his work—his mother needs the money. It’s hard for a young American to earn money in any other way in a small French town. She understands everything perfectly, so she’s not making any hasty conclusions.

“What are you thinking?” Sean quietly breaks the silence near the girl’s house.

“The decision doesn’t come instantly,” Sara admits. “I need to think.”

“You have as much time as you need,” the guy replies generously, though there isn’t much time at all.

“Good, thank you,” the girl understands herself that she needs to decide as soon as possible so she doesn’t torment herself or Sean.

“I won’t bother you while you’re thinking. It’s a serious decision; you can’t be distracted, or you could make a big mistake.”

“But how will you know my decision?” Sara wonders, having no way to see him until he comes back himself.

“What paints did you buy?” he reminds her of the treasure bought in the artists’ paradise.

“Yellow and red,” the girl answers without the special verbal vibrancy she usually lends to her paints.

“If you don’t want to see me, draw a cross on the window with the red paint, and if you want to keep seeing me, draw a yellow bird.”

“Alright,” Sara gladly accepts the suitable condition.

“I’ll wait for your decision. It matters to me. Just don’t mix up the colors,” Sean kisses Sara on the cheek and hugs her. He releases her from what might be their last embrace. The girl stays silent, holding back the sadness that is trying to burst out. The wooden door closes, hiding the young people from each other.

The hosts don’t greet her in the bright kitchen with a cup of fragrant coffee and smiles. A couple of joking remarks from René wouldn’t hurt right now. Sara feels utterly alone. The only bright spot is her colorful friend, the painting. Now it has a name. Linda is the only one who stays by her side in this difficult hour, offering support. She alone knows how hard things are for Sara right now.

Doubt tears her apart from within. Her soul splits into two parts. One aligns with common sense, which urges her to stop all contact with the criminal, convinced that nothing good will come of it for either of them. The second essence sides with her heart, calling for her to silence her mind and recklessly surrender to her feelings.

The part of her soul that favors the heart is larger. Yet, the arguments from common sense carry more weight. Still, one can’t dismiss the possibility that these feelings could last a lifetime, becoming life itself for them. But they might not. Thoughts and feelings mercilessly rip apart Sara’s already wounded soul. She considers these thoughts while lying on the soft bed, arms spread wide. She looks at Linda, who silently agrees with what Sara wants, rejecting everything that oppresses her. A best friend, in a word.

Several hours passed this way—unconscious, or perhaps, oversaturated with consciousness. Sara didn’t reach a decision. All she could do was fall asleep. Sleep has become an enemy these past few days. Dark nightmares haunt her. She sees no other way to relax now. Better a nightmare than the horrors continuing in her head. She’s looked at Linda enough. She lies down on her right side, toward the window. She thinks about everything for another ten minutes. Imperceptibly, she drifts off.

A turbulent river sweeps away everything in its path. Sean waits on the opposite bank. Between them is a wooden bridge, swaying from the rush of the current. Sara wants to reach Sean, but she’s afraid to cross the river. The unreliable bridge might collapse, and she would drown in the murky abyss. She understands now: if she crosses the river, there will be no turning back.

The very same bird that appeared in her dream when Dayton vanished from her young memory lands on her hand. Sara smiles, examining its colorful plumage. She wishes she could become a bird herself to fly across the river. In this moment, everything becomes clear. Sara wants to reach the other bank. She wants to be with Sean.

The bird flies to the other side. Sara wants to rush after it. The crumbling bridge stops the girl. Nails fall out; planks disappear into the water. Everything shakes and rattles. Sean is waiting on that bank. Sara steps back. She takes a running start, dashing across the unstable structure, gazing intently into Sean’s eyes. Planks fly out with every step. She runs without stopping. She has to get to the other side, and no bridge can stop her, not even its absence.

The girl is ready to fly without wings. Now, more than ever, she dreams of having them. The distance shortens. She accelerates. The swift current shatters the bridge’s supports; everything collapses; wooden wreckage falls into the water. She jumps, trying to reach her goal—it’s too far. Sean leaps toward her, catching her in mid-air. They merge in an embrace. Together, they fall into the river. Sara calmly prepares for certain death.

When she opens her eyes, she sees the turbulent current transforming into a gentle song, pouring from the mouth of nature. They are together. The bird circles above them for a few seconds and then flies away. Sara and Sean disappear further downstream. The unknown engulfs them. The couple isn’t afraid of the future, because they’re together. Sara’s eyes open smoothly and easily. The light of the evening sun floods the room with soft shades of orange and red. The girl muses. She needs orange paint.

She remembers falling asleep with soul-shredding thoughts. She had to decide what to do about Sean. After the dream, she’s sure she must be with him, despite the turbulent rivers of obstacles. The dream suggested she should go where her soul yearns, even if it’s life-threatening. Linda’s red smile betrays her agreement with the decision.

Linda agrees, which means Sara made a wonderful decision. She wants to tell Sean immediately. She grabs her palette, yellow paint, and solvent. She wipes the glass with the sharp-smelling liquid. Like it or not, you’ll inhale it more than once. With confident movements, under the spell of the dream, she paints a yellow bird on the window as a sign of her consent to a continued relationship and a shared fate with Sean.

She painstakingly outlines each sunny, warm feather with a thin brush. She adds the finishing touches with blue paint, completing the eyes. Now, Sean will immediately understand from the look that Sara is ready to communicate with him further and eagerly awaits their next meeting. Since the palette is already in her hands and the paints are nearby, she needs to do what she came here for, and get her mind off everything else at the same time.

She takes her best friend from the easel and places it on the windowsill. She sets up a new canvas in the empty spot. Her last one. She’ll have to go back to that shop again. Today, she goes without red paint. Lemon yellow plays with the same blue she used for the bird’s eyes on the window.

Sara is surprised at herself, looking at the paintings. She’s never been interested in abstraction, but now it’s all she can produce when listening to her emotions. The combination is unconventional, like her mood today. Sharp strokes are like thoughts. Bright, intense colors are like emotions. The final touch. A signature in black paint: “Sara Newbird,” Sara’s artistic pseudonym since her first year at the art institute. Another emotional friend is clad in colorful attire and ready to speak to her heart-to-heart.

The canvas takes the shape of a question: “Why hasn’t Sean come yet?” Sara painted the bird on the window as a sign of agreement, as she promised. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he misunderstood the image. Or perhaps he doesn’t want to see her anymore at all. And he’ll never come back. He doesn’t even need an answer. All she can do is guess. She won’t know the truth until Sean comes and tells her himself. Or doesn’t come. In that case, the truth, like any future life with Sean, will be forever sealed off.

Does he really not need her anymore? Why did she react that way about his occupation? There’s nothing terrible about it. Although, in reality, it’s scary and dangerous. But he’s doing a wonderful thing. He takes beauties from those who don’t appreciate them and gives them to those who desperately dream of owning them. But what if those whose yachts are taken also dreamed of them so much and saved money to buy them their whole lives?

“I get it, it’s hard to survive without money. It’s not easy to earn it, but there are other methods. Although, what do I know? I'm a student, without any experience. And what moral right do I have to judge? Everyone survives the best way they can. What if I have to do something similar when the carefree life of an artist ends and the real adult challenges begin?” the girl reproaches herself with these unpleasant thoughts, defending Sean.

After her internal monologue, she realizes that everything is fine now compared to what lies ahead for her. She grows sad, as if the gray clouds of reality are engulfing the clear sky of bright hopes. While she was painting her latest emotional masterpiece, the sun dipped below the horizon. Sean never appeared. Two hours went into Mira, as Sara calls her second friend. Her sweetheart still hasn’t arrived, and she so wants to go for a walk with him.

She’d go for a walk by herself, but she’s afraid of missing him. The narrow streets won’t allow it, but they could take different roads. Maybe something happened? Sara tenses up. Why hadn’t that thought occurred to her before? It’s entirely possible, considering Sean’s line of work. New worries, stronger than the previous ones, fill her restless soul.

Sara doesn’t go out for a walk today. Josie comes up to her, offering to have dinner with them. Sara has no appetite. The entire evening is spent waiting for Sean, who never came. He didn’t come the next day either. Nor the week after. Throughout all this nervous, worry-filled time, Sara has only left the house once to buy some groceries and canvases.

The whole world is losing its colors. She didn’t think things would turn out this way after the bright start of her trip. Her figure becomes even slimmer from lack of food. The landlady watches in horror as the girl loses weight and tries to feed her, but Sara’s lack of appetite creates serious obstacles.

The only interesting and pleasant thing that happened was the wonderful changes Sara saw at the art shop when she went to buy canvases. She had gone there fearing she would find the place closed and the shelves empty. The girl was pleasantly mistaken. Instead of a closed shop, a vibrant, crowded artistic paradise stands in the same spot. It’s now difficult to enter, and even harder to get to the counter.

Sara gathers all her courage and pushes through the crowd. It isn’t easy, but the slender girl manages. She stands at the end of the long counter for a few minutes while the delighted shop owner serves customers. A free second appears. The artist, with a wide smile, approaches his first happy customer. He wants to say something, but it’s so noisy in the shop now that he can’t hear himself think. The man makes a loud announcement that he’ll be gone for a couple of minutes. He comes out from behind the counter and takes Sara’s arm. They step outside briefly. The artist struggles to collect his thoughts.

“How did this happen? Where did the magic come from?” Sara asks with a look of surprised delight, glancing at the artist and the shop.

“To be honest, I don’t know myself,” the gray-haired man shrugs.

“What do you mean? Didn’t you do anything for this? Things don’t just happen.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” the owner admits honestly. “They say someone put up flyers all over town about my shop a little less than a week ago. Why didn’t I think of that myself? Advertising works wonders in modern society, and I completely forgot about it. I plunged headfirst into the world of art, where everything happens magically on its own. I was waiting for a miracle from real life. Now I know that advertising makes miracles happen.”

“Who went to all that effort?” the girl asks, wanting to thank the hero for saving her favorite shop.

“People say they saw a young guy about your age,” the man tries to recall what witnesses said. “A little taller than average, medium build, fit. Handsome.” The description immediately reminds Sara of Sean. Could he have done it all?

“So, thanks to the flyers, you have a constant stream of visitors?”

“It seems so,” the shop owner smiles in surprise. “But I’ll tell you more,” the artist’s body shudders with a wave of happy emotions.

“What else?” Sara prepares to hear something unusual.

“The young wizard shared an amazing idea.”

“What idea?” the girl still hasn’t learned patience.

“Now, every Sunday the shop is closed. Instead of selling for art, we do art,” the artist gasps with excitement. “A group of enthusiasts gathers. We take a minibus and everything we need. We drive together to picturesque spots nearby. Everyone paints their own picture, depicting their unique vision of the surrounding world.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Sara genuinely likes the idea of creative people going on joint trips.

“Not only have people been introduced to the world of art, but now tourists from all over France and other countries are flocking to Solyè. These trips are getting more popular every day. Now we go out not just on Sundays, but on weekdays too, early in the morning and before sunset.”

“Tell me, why did he go to all that trouble?” she asks, a little distrustfully. “Selflessness is more surprising now than inflated prices for good deeds.”

“I don’t even know. Honestly, I have no guesses. Be that as it may, the guy saved me, my little shop, and the world of art in Solyè and in people’s souls. I'm incredibly grateful to him!”

“I'm happy for you. It’s nice to see so many visitors,” the girl glances back at the shop, full of customers waiting for the owner to place an order.

“Thank you,” the artist replies contentedly. “By the way, what does Josephine do in her free time?”

“Why are you asking?” the girl tries to gauge the nature of the interest in the man’s eyes.

“No, don’t get the wrong idea! I'm not encroaching on old René’s treasure. I value his friendship. I need his wife as an assistant in the shop and for the trips to the scenic spots. As you can see, I can’t manage on my own. My age is starting to show,” he runs a hand through his gray hair.

“Don’t play it down. You’re still quite young,” Sara smiles lightly, adding conviction to her words.

“Oh, come on!” the humble artist blushes.

“I’ll definitely ask Josie what she thinks about a vacancy in the local paradise,” Sara promises with a smile.

“Please do ask. I’ll be waiting for news. Better yet, tell her to come straight to work. I won’t be stingy with my gratitude. Tell her that,” he adds in a whisper.

“I will pass that on,” Sara replies seriously.

“Wait, you came here for something, didn’t you?” the shop owner realizes.

“Yes. I need canvases,” the girl indicates the approximate sizes.

“Just a second,” the shop owner dives back through the glass doors. “The best in France,” he comes out, handing the order to the girl.

“Excellent! Did you write the amount on a piece of paper, or will you show me on your fingers how much I owe you?” Sara jokes.

“Money, what money!” the shop owner waves his hand. “Now I can easily afford to give a pleasant gift to a fellow artist and a wonderful girl.”

“Thank you very much,” Sara sincerely thanks him, feeling the urge to repay his unprecedented generosity.

“My gratitude is much greater!” the artist replies seriously.

“For what?” Sara is a little lost.

“You’re the magical first visitor. After you, the miracles began.”

“Do you really think I have anything to do with this great miracle?” the girl asks in surprise, looking at the flourishing shop.

“I'm sure of it!” the artist exclaims joyfully.

“Well, if that’s the case, then great,” Sara is pleased to think that her existence is useful to someone. Especially if it’s a pleasant person and an artist.

“Now, I have to run,” the man turns guiltily back toward the shop. “Thank you for the pleasant visit.”

“Thank you!” Sara smiles, pleased with the conversation.

“I’ll be waiting for Josephine’s answer!” the artist returns to the shop, leaving Sara with the canvases outside.

The whole way, the girl thinks about who this benefactor is, the one who miraculously saved the artistic haven. It could only be Sean. No one else here fits the description. At least, she does not know anyone else like that. Sara cannot think of anyone else after hearing the artist’s words.

She only ever told him about the little shop and shared her worries about its fate. Apparently, her words touched Sean, and he came up with the solution. Now Sara is absolutely sure she needs a man like him. Everything is good, only his illegal activity spoils everything. Everything is perfect. Just one “minor detail“ prevents them from living a normal life. She wishes his dark business would end quickly. She wishes he would return soon.

The girl is not rushing home. Only oppressive worries await her there. She goes out for a short walk, starting to doubt that the guy will ever come back. Quite accidentally, she ends up in the very courtyard where Sean lives now. Or lived. She could not have come here on purpose, as it was dark then, and Sara still has poor spatial awareness in the city even during the day.

On the border between the urban area and the blossoming fields, she notices the arbor where they sat that night. The dome, weathered by rain and winds, seems to rest on ivy-covered supports that thickly twist around the posts. The grapevines between the posts are thick and green, closing the arbor’s windows like curtains from prying eyes, guarding with all their might the romance that blooms here in the evenings, enveloping the couples who come.

Sara cautiously peeks into the arbor. The lovers are spending their time elsewhere right now. She can sit for a bit. She enters and sits down on the smooth wooden bench. The candle that lit their first night together is still on the table, the witness to the carving Sean so skillfully created on the wooden support. She kneels down to examine the memory more closely. The crimson heart strengthens the magic of the words that affect the girl’s own heart.

Now, in the daylight, Sara sees ten times more inscriptions. Lovers leave not only ardent declarations of love, but also vows to live together for life, words of admiration for their partners, and even threats to end their lives if they are left alone. Among the multitude of loud phrases, their words are the closest and most cherished. If you look closely, it seems every word is alive, and the crimson heart beats in sync with the rhythm of her and Sean’s hearts. It absolutely does not matter how long you have known a person if you want to spend your entire life with them.

She sits calmly and sadly, hiding from everyone. She looks at the fields through a small window in the grapevine thicket. She inhales the light scents drifting from the free French open spaces. She thinks only of him the whole time. She longs to enjoy every second with Sean. It does not matter what happens to them next, as long as he is just near her. Always. That is all she wants right now.

A couple, playfully whispering, walks toward the arbor. It is time to leave. It is not right to disturb the lovers with her sad expression. She looks at their inscription carefully one more time, running her fingers over the raised memory. She leaves the arbor with the happiest smile she can muster, so as not to spoil anyone’s mood. The young people are delighted that the arbor is now at their disposal. They sit down where Sara and Sean were sitting.

The city does not beckon the girl, unlike the open spaces strewn with fragrant herbs and field flower petals. She walks straight into the grass, feeling every living touch of nature. She runs her hands over the tops of the plants reaching up from the earth. Birds and small animals are enjoying the warm day with her. Butterflies, as if in a fairy tale, land on her hands. The soft soil embraces her every step. A boy and girl about five years old run past Sara. How are they allowed to wander here alone? The grass is almost as tall as the children. They could easily get lost.

“Don’t run too far!” their mother’s voice calls from the city.

“Okay, Mommy!” the girl is weaving wreaths. One for the boy, one for herself. “And this one is for you,” she gives the third wreath to the girl walking alone among the endless colored seas.

“Thank you,” Sara accepts the gift with a smile. “And this is for you,” she removes a bracelet made of colored ribbons from her left wrist and ties it onto the girl’s thin arm. “Now we’re friends.”

“Yes! We’re friends!” the girl returns to the boy. “Why are you walking alone?” the children run around, catching butterflies and lizards.

“I’m waiting for my friend,” Sara answers with a sad smile. She walks alongside them, watching over them fondly. You never know what might happen. Danger lurks even in beauty. Everything is fine. The children have had their fill of walking, running, jumping, and collecting flowers for their mother. “Bye, friend!” the girl says in a cheerful, clear voice.

“Bye, friend,” the girl smiles as she watches the children return to their mother, waving after them.

Sara is returning home too. She walks through the deserted streets of Solyè with a bouquet of wildflowers, gazing at the flowers in her hand, unable to believe it. She’s wandering so far from her native Dayton. The girl thinks about this for the first time since her arrival. Again, she purposely goes into unfamiliar places. Feeling tired, she miraculously finds her way home.

“I’m home!” Sara returns to the cool, two-story house that reliably shields her young body from the heat. “Josie, can you come out to me?” the girl calls to the landlady with a smile. “These are for you,” she gives her friend the bouquet of wildflowers.

“They’re lovely!” Josie admires the delicate bouquet and places the flowers in her favorite red glass vase. “Will you eat something?”

“No, thank you,” the girl modestly declines. Without Sean, she doesn’t have an appetite. They both sit down at the table.

“Then at least eat a juicy apple. I bought it at the market this morning,” Josie insists, giving her a beautiful, large red apple. The red color reminds her of Sean again.

“Thanks,” Sara accepts the apple with a sad smile. “But I have some good news for you,” the girl’s face instantly brightens as she remembers the best change in Solyè’ life.

“What interesting thing has happened?” the landlady stares intently at the girl, not guessing.

“Remember that magical little art shop?” Sara smiles mysteriously, creating suspense.

“Of course, I do!” Josie impatiently awaits the news itself.

“It survived! The little paradise survived and is thriving!” the joyful event completely changes the girl’s mood.

“That’s interesting,” the landlady muses with a smile. “A real miracle.”

“That’s what I thought too!” Sara agrees with a smile. “As the artist said, advertising works wonders now.”

“Simple advertising saved a real paradise?” Josie quietly marvels at the change.

“I have one more interesting piece of news. And you should like it,” the girl looks even more mysterious.

“What other good thing could have happened?” the landlady smiles, skeptical.

“The artist is eagerly awaiting the best assistant in Solyè and all of France for an enviable vacancy!” she announces with importance and solemnity.

“And what does that mean?” Josie seriously waits for an explanation.

“You’re the artist’s assistant, both in the shop and at outside events!” Sara can’t contain her delight as she shares the joyful news. “Of course, you can refuse,” she says seriously. “But who would refuse a ticket to paradise on Earth?”

“The artist wants me to be his assistant?” Josie is pleasantly surprised.

“He’s already waiting for you for your first workday. He promised a generous salary. So, do you agree?” the girl anxiously awaits her friend’s important decision.

“Of course, I agree!” the landlady laughs. “And when do I start?”

“You can go there right now and start getting used to your new workplace,” Sara happily conveys the artist’s mood.

“I need to consult with my René,” Josie whispers with a smile, walking into her room. “Thank you for the wonderful news.”

“I’m getting just as much pleasure from this news,” Sara smiles contentedly as she goes up to her own room.

An appetite returns to Sara after a week and a half, but the desire to go for a walk does not. Why walk without Sean? Art replaces life, but it cannot replace Sean. The sunny bird still waits on the window. Another bird waits in a cage of four stone walls. Her friends, like canvases for Sara’s emotions, try to be supportive so that the girl does not lose her mind from waiting.

The storm of sad passions dies down. The small bell rings in the girl’s room. Not hoping for anything good, she goes downstairs. Her eyes widen. Sean is standing on the doorstep. Her Sean. Sara, not holding back her joy, embraces the young man tightly.

“Come with me,” Sean whispers.

“I'm coming,” Sara does not even ask where they need to go; she simply goes where the dear man leads her. She goes in the same clothes she has worn all day at home.

“I missed you,” the young man confesses as they leave the house and step onto the dark street.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Sara wants to say how much she missed him, but her anger at Sean is equal to the joy of his appearance.

“I'm sorry, I had important things to deal with,” he regrets the time he lost without her.

“Are those things more important than me?” the girl asks with feigned indignation.

“Nothing is more important than you,” Sean answers seriously, squeezing her hand tightly. The wall of the girl’s rigid defense crumbles like a sandcastle.

“Did you make the shop a success?” Sara asks, thawing out.

“Did it work?” Sean asks about the result with calm modesty.

“It sure did! Now we can’t keep visitors away,” the girl exclaims with delight. “The artist can’t keep up. He asked Josie to be his assistant. And the creative trips are absolutely amazing! What a great idea! How did you come up with it?”

“I thought of it when you were enthusiastically telling me about the shop. Your worries touched my soul. I wanted your joy to last as long as possible.”

“Thank you so much!” Sara kisses the young man on the cheek, standing on tiptoes.

“I didn’t actually help you; I helped the artist,” Sean is unsure and embarrassed, deep in thought.

“You can be sure you made me happier!” she hugs Sean tightly and kisses his cool, dry lips.

“I'm glad everything worked out so well,” the young man had not expected such a result.

“And did everything go well there?” the girl asks, noticing his mood.

“It’s hard to say,” Sean answers with quiet sadness.

“Did something happen?” Sara worries.

“It’s better if you don’t know,” he calmly draws a veil over his problems so as not to upset the girl.

“Tell me, since we’re together now,” Sara reminds him seriously.

“We’re together?” Sean is pleasantly surprised, looking at the girl. In the darkness, he cannot make out her blue eyes.

“I drew the bird, remember?” Sara reminds him, surprised by his reaction.

“Oh, right, I'm sorry,” he kisses her on the cheek, apologizing for his inattention and forgetfulness. “I would have come anyway,” he admits with a smile.

“What happened?” the girl understands that things are not so simple.

“There were five of us, and now there are four,” Sean reports sadly. He stares straight ahead, unblinking.

“Where did the fifth one go?” Sara whispers.

“We were ambushed while transporting another yacht. Everyone but him managed to escape,” he recalls heavily, reliving the moment.

“And what happened to him?” the girl wants to know all the possibilities in such situations.

“We put on our scuba gear when we saw the police. We jumped into the water. When we reached the shore, we realized that Mikhael stayed behind to lead the chase away. He saved everyone. Another person gave his life for me,” he whispers, truly regretful.

“What makes you think the guy is gone?” Sara clarifies hopefully, not believing that Mikhael is truly dead.

“The funeral was a few days ago,” Sean’s words are heavier than stones.

“Were you able to say goodbye?” Sara guesses how difficult that must be in a situation like this.

“No, police were waiting everywhere. While everyone was at the cemetery, we left his mother all the money Mikhael earned, plus our shares. We know money won’t bring back her only son. But we couldn’t have done otherwise.”

“What are you going to do now?” Sara hopes to hear a decision to abandon the risky business.

“I don’t know yet, but we need to get rid of all the yachts in the dock. And for now, I’ll fulfill a promise,” he opens the dock gates. Sara hadn’t even noticed them reaching the secret criminal hideout.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” the girl doubts.

“If the police haven’t raided this place after all this time, they don’t know anything about it. And I promised, and a word must be kept.”

Sean offers Sara his hand. The girl climbs aboard the blue and red yacht. The young man deftly follows, starting the powerful engine. It is calm today, so the sails would be useless; he leaves them furled. He removes the mooring lines. They smoothly exit the dock. He pulls a specially stretched rope, and the gates close.

All the stars in the sky reflect on the water’s mirror-smooth surface. On the day of their first trip, the sky was moonless, but now a young crescent, like a sail filled with the night breeze, appears. The yacht slices through the dark water, swiftly moving away from the dark Solyè. Sara stands next to Sean, who holds the steering wheel with one hand and embraces his sweet girl with the other. Together, they move along the quiet night river. Right now, it doesn’t matter what is happening, or where. Besides the yacht, the water’s surface is disturbed only by fish that occasionally leap out.

“Let’s leave,” Sara quietly suggests.

“Where to?” Sean’s guard goes up subtly.

“It doesn’t matter, just away from everything. After all, you could be the next victim in this business at any moment. It’s frightening just to think about it.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Sean replies with a slight smirk.

“How can I not think about it? You survived by a miracle,” the girl is quietly annoyed at the guy’s lightheartedness.

“I couldn’t die,” he looks at the girl seriously. “You were waiting for me.”

“I was waiting,” Sara whispers. She presses against his strong male shoulder and closes her eyes tightly.

“And I came back,” he adds calmly, as if nothing could have stopped him.

“You came back. But let’s leave,” the girl looks at him imploringly again, wanting to hear his agreement.

“But you still have three months left on your vacation package,” Sean reminds her. “Why rush?”

“Those months will be sheer torture, knowing what you do. And now I know exactly what happens in your line of work.”

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Sean regrets telling the truth. He’s ruined Sara’s vacation.

“Yes, you should have,” the girl insists, urging him to always tell her the truth in the future. “I need to know where you are and what happens to you.”

“Tell me, why will three months be torture for you?” he guesses the reason but wants her to confirm it anyway.

“Not a single day will pass without the terrible fear that you won’t be there,” Sara admits.

“I can’t go anywhere yet,” Sean voices the necessity to stay, regretfully.

“Why? What’s keeping you? Isn’t leaving better than staying and dying?” Sara is indignant at the guy’s incomprehension.

“We still have one unfinished job left.”

“Let’s just leave. We’ll drop everything,” the girl suggests decisively.

“We leave, and then what? What are we going to live on?” Sean reasons maturely, trying not to give in to an impulse he himself wants to follow.

“I have money left over from college,” Sara mentally calculates her savings.

“It won’t last long,” Sean smirks.

“Let’s go, and we’ll figure out what to do next when we get there,” in the risky situation, a spirit of adventure awakens in the girl.

“I’m sorry. I have to complete this last job. These are serious people. Especially now, there are four of us, not five. The guys definitely won’t manage without me.”

“Let them find a replacement for you,” the worried girl immediately offers.

“No one will agree. The job requires trusted people. I have to do this for our sake,” Sean kisses the top of Sara’s head. He subtly breathes in the scent of her hair.

“Fine. But as soon as this last job is done, we’re leaving. Agreed?” Sara suggests firmly, giving him no choice with a stern look.

“Yes. I agree with that. It’s settled,” now Sean has a clear plan of action and a goal beyond the final yacht job.

“When are you planning it?” she whispers, looking around.

“Tomorrow,” Sean states seriously.

“Tomorrow?” Sara whispers anxiously.

“Is something wrong?” the guy smiles easily.

“On the one hand, it’s good that it’s tomorrow. The sooner it happens, the sooner we leave. On the other hand, if something goes wrong, I’ll lose you even sooner.”

“Everything will work out. I promise you,” Sean declares, hugging Sara tightly. For a moment, he releases the steering wheel of the yacht as it glides smoothly down the river.

“I believe you,” she looks into his eyes, sincerely trusting the guy’s words.

“You’re right to,” he smiles and kisses the girl on the lips.

“It’s good that you don’t promise anything else,” Sara muses.

“What do you mean?” Sean looks in confusion at the serious face of the mysterious girl.

“Other guys always promise a bright future, a happy family, children, their own house, a fancy car. But you don’t promise anything. Why?”

“That’s just the way I am. Given life’s unpredictability, it’s hard to promise anything, knowing that something unforeseen can happen at any moment. And it always does. Promises will be broken, and that becomes a stone around your neck in the form of constant reproaches and disappointment from the person you promised to and let down. Personally, I think it’s better to quietly and subtly put in the effort to achieve set personal and shared goals, making allowances for life changes, than to make empty promises. Do you want to hear words like that?” Sean looks at Sara with a smile.

“No, of course not! I’ve always been ironic about those kinds of promises and oaths. I never believed those who talk a lot and do nothing. Promising the future is like predicting rain. Clouds can swirl over the city, but the downpour might not come. You think everything is falling into place and will work out. And then, unexpectedly, an unaccounted-for factor interferes. The castle in the air is carried away by the winds of change into the unknown.”

“I’ve always wondered why girls want to hear such bold promises from guys?” Sean ponders.

“When a girl starts dating a guy, she wants to be sure she’s making the right choice, that she’ll have everything she wants. She craves to hear sweet lies that will calm her inner turmoil and doubts. At the same time, most often, girls want to feel that the guy wants all of it with her. And if it doesn’t work out, they at least have something to comfort themselves with.”

“Why don’t those girls support their man on the path to the desired future, which both of them need? When a man promises and doesn’t deliver, disappointment and caustic resentment appear, which slowly chips away at the foundation of the relationship. The man feels this and starts looking at other caring girls who will support him. What’s the point of having a beaver that chews through the supports of your house? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not just talking about girls. Men often chip away at the relationship’s foundation too, with reproaches, unkind actions, or indifference. People have gotten lazy. They don’t want to build. It’s much easier to destroy,” Sean rails emotionally.

“Girls are so afraid of wasting themselves by supporting and helping the wrong man that they keep their support locked inside. And they end up alone, abandoned by the man who never received anything in return for his efforts.”

“Is that everyone? I suspected as much, but some doubts remain,” the guy doesn’t want to believe he’s right until the very end.

“Not everyone. Some girls even think that no men are worthy of support at all. They believe that only the man must always help and do everything just for her. You know what kind of girls there are. And they’re not uncommon among men either.”

“But why is it like this? Where does that strange way of thinking even come from?”

“Who knows about those people,” Sara laughs. Sean joins her quiet laughter.

The journey continues in complete silence. Sara now can’t think about anything except the job tomorrow, about which she knows nothing. She worries intensely, as if she herself is going there and knows for certain that she won’t return. The most terrible thing is that the dearest and closest person to her might not return. Sean’s embrace and the quiet night calm her, but nothing can drown out the worries in her soul.

Sean notices Sara getting cold and drapes his jacket, which smells of the river and his warmth, over her fragile shoulders. She breathes in the scent deeply. After about an hour of cruising, they turn back toward the dock. Sean handles everything himself. The yacht is again moored in the secret hideout of the kidnapped beauties. The couple is in no hurry to leave.

Sean escorts Sara into the cabin and switches on a lamp. The muted light softly spills across the small cabin, absorbing into the walls. The white sheets, with their faint sheen, reflect the rays penetrating through the glass rods surrounding the thin, bright glow of the chandelier. Sean turns on the air conditioning so Sara can warm up.

Five minutes later, Sara removes the jacket. They lie on the bed, embracing. The girl feels a strange, unaccustomed surge of arousal. She likes Sean, but there is something else to it. The sheer setting of risk unexpectedly generates a small dose of adrenaline. Her breathing becomes heavier and deeper. Sean feels the change and holds her tighter.

To the breathing are added smooth movements. Sean’s hands slowly glide over Sara’s sensual body. His hot breath and kisses warm the girl’s blood-flushed lips and bare neck. Her white blouse, stained with paint, falls open, freed from its buttons. The girl helps Sean remove his T-shirt, which hinders his body from fully touching hers. Sara tries to take off her shorts herself. Sean helps. The girl’s strong breathing becomes ragged and languid. Sean removes his pants and helps Sara shed her white lace underwear. He gently caresses her silky, pale skin. Excitement both restrains and liberates their young bodies.

Sean kisses Sara on the lips, gently touches her neck, and strokes her shoulders. He caresses, kissing her firm curves. He strokes her slender waist and mobile hips. They communicate with breath and the smooth movements of their bodies. Sean’s exhale and Sara’s deep inhale. They become one.

Sean’s smooth and passionate movements find a response in Sara’s movements and the languid breathing of them both. His strong hands make her feel their intimacy more fully. The guy’s hot lips caress Sara’s highly aroused body. Unable to bear the tension, she writhes beneath Sean’s strong body. Her eyes smoothly close in pleasure. Her imagination pictures them from the outside, perceiving every movement of their bodies, adorned with vibrant emotions and sensations.

The arousal and pleasant tension reach a peak. The passionate movements intensify. Their breathing quickens. Sara can no longer control herself or suppress the groan that is born deep within her soul. The emotions burst forth, where Sean meets them with passionate kisses to her neck. His hands squeeze Sara’s firm curves ever tighter. The passion reaches its limit. Their sharp, powerful breaths merge at the peak of enjoyment of their long-awaited intimacy. Sean is in no hurry to leave Sara’s hot body, and the girl is glad for every second he is with her.

The passionate kisses become tender and sensual. Sean strokes the girl’s velvety cheeks with his fingertips. Their calm breathing echoes mutual affection and adoration. The muted light subtly complements the intimacy of the moment. Sean takes a scarlet rose with a short stem from under the pillow and presents it to his beautiful lady. They lie together, embracing, savoring the moment.

“I’m sorry, but we need to hurry. We can’t delay any longer. It’s too risky to stay here. My associates might arrive soon,” Sean kisses Sara on the lips one more time, reluctantly leaving her languid body. He hands her clothes and dresses himself.

“I understand,” Sara whispers, grasping the situation with a single glance. When their bodies are hidden beneath the thin summer fabrics, they lie down together again. They embrace for a few more precious minutes.

They stand, embrace, feeling the closeness. A tender kiss concludes their pleasant time. Sean listens closely. The dock is completely quiet. They exit and lock the cabin. The guy steps off first and offers the girl his hand. He peers beyond the gate. No one. They leave the risky spot as quickly as possible. The click of the lock pierces the nighttime silence.

The walk to the city along the cool night path ends with the sunrise. They stop. Embracing, they watch the first minutes of the sun’s birth. Sara presses closer to Sean; if she could cover herself with him, she would return the jacket. Right now, she fears most that the dawn will be their last. The same fear is visible on Sean’s face. They look at the sun with sadness, as if for the last time, hugging tighter and tighter. They want to better remember the precious warmth of the embrace. Sara tries not to look into Sean’s eyes. She knows she is strong and stopped crying long ago, but she will not be able to hold back the tears.

It gets lighter. They could be noticed in these places. They leave the open area. Before the city, Sara fixes her hair, wipes away her smudged light makeup with dew, and proudly enters the streets of Solyè. Sean walks her to the very door. He hugs her tightly, as never before, and kisses her with all the tenderness blazing in his soul and heart. They stand for a minute, looking tenderly into each other’s eyes, holding hands. Sean remembers the time. His eyes dart nervously. His body is ready to make the forced departure, but his heart does not want to leave Sara.

“I’ll definitely come to you when everything is over. Wait for me,” the guy whispers, gazing pleadingly.

“When will you be with me?” Sara looks at the guy with pleasant exhaustion.

“Tomorrow before dawn,” the serious guy muses. “Right after the job. Pack your things and be ready to run from the city.”

“Alright. I’ll pack right now and give Josie the full amount for the rental,” Sara decides.

“That’s right. We can’t leave loose ends. Ask them not to tell anyone about you. Let them pretend we were never there.”

“The owners of the house are trustworthy people,” the girl smiles easily.

“I have to run,” Sean looks around, agitated.

“Promise you’ll come back,” hope shines in Sara’s eyes like bright rays.

“I promise,” Sean whispers, knowing the chances of success are slim.

They embrace. They say goodbye with their eyes. Only their hearts have not said goodbye; they still beat in the same frantic rhythm as they did tonight. Sean opens the wooden door. Sara walks in without looking at the guy. The door closes, starting the countdown until their desired next meeting.

Only Josie is in the kitchen today. She sits somewhat saddened in the morning sunbeams. A black scarf covers her head, which Sara notices only now. The coffee in her hands has long gone cold. The full cup remains untouched by her pale lips. A heavy, empty gaze stares off into the past.

“What happened?” Sara asks worriedly.

“He is no more,” the hostess whispers quietly and weakly.

“Who? Has René died?” the girl asks, horrified.

“No, but I fear the old grump will soon leave me too,” Josie sighs, even more heavily. “His heart was seized by grief.”

“Who is gone? Who died?” Sara pleads, trying to understand what sorrow has befallen them. “Tell me, please, don’t torment me.”

“Our son, Mikhael,” the woman’s face contorts with a new wave of anguish and tears.

“Mikhael?” a fleeting tremor runs through Sara’s body; a cold sweat breaks out. Her soul grows cold. Unable to stand, she sits down on a chair across from the hostess. “Mikhael is your son,” Sara whispers, now very quietly, paling before Josie’s eyes.

“What?” Josie lifts her eyes, moving closer to the girl. “Forgive me, I’m a bit hard of hearing right now. Before, I didn’t want to see anything, and now I don’t want to hear anything either.”

“No, nothing. I didn’t know you had a son,” Sara admits.

“I had a son,” the woman sighs heavily, wiping away bitter maternal tears, which are the bitterest in the whole wide world.

“I’m so sorry,” Sara lays her warm hand on Josie’s icy one.

“Thank you,” the hostess barely replies, sighing heavily.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Sara feels tears welling up in her own eyes.

“I saw you were already having a hard time. Why get you involved in this too?” Josie explains.

“What are you saying! I would’ve helped in any way I could. But what can I do?” she sadly realizes that some things are irreparable.

“You’re helping me now. It’s hard to be alone at a time like this. I’ve lost my son, and René is laid up with the news that’s so difficult for any parent. I’m afraid his heart won’t take it. In the end, he, too, will soon leave me,” the woman imagines sadly again.

“He’ll be all right,” Sara tries to reassure the hostess. Josie just offers a lifeless smile.

“Do you want coffee?” Josie asks, as if coming to her senses from her deep thoughts.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Sara knows she won’t be able to sleep today, but her eyes are closing. And she can’t leave her friend alone right now. “Can I help?” Sara hopes to distract Josie from her terrible thoughts.

“You’d better look after your young man,” Josie requests, as a mother would for her son.

“What are you talking about?” Sara tries to hide her reaction, showing surprise, though it’s hard to conceal anything from the perceptive woman.

“I don’t think my Mikhael will be the only one to suffer from that damned business,” she stares angrily out the window, as if looking into the eyes of the one who ruined her son.

“What business are you talking about?” Sara doesn’t want Josie to worry unnecessarily.

“I think you know perfectly well,” the hostess habitually brews the coffee.

“Did you know what Mikhael was involved in?” the girl asks, genuinely surprised.

“Of course, I knew,” Josie answers calmly.

“How? Did you see for yourself when you touched his hand?” Sara guesses based on her own experience.

“I’m a mother. Mothers know everything. And if they don’t know, they certainly feel it. It’s a special connection across distance and time,” Sara remains silent. Now is not the time for words. “My boy gave his life, precious to me, for this,” Josie angrily puts an envelope of money on the table. Tears pour from her eyes even more profusely. “If he’d just asked us, we would have helped,” she finishes making the coffee, pours it into a cup, and hands it to Sara.

“Thank you very much,” the girl nervously takes three small sips. The boiling liquid burns her lips. She needs it to pull herself together. “I didn’t think you knew my Sean,” she says, gathering her girlish courage to talk about what’s important to her.

“Do you think I didn’t see who my Mikhael was talking to? Everyone here sees each other several times a day.”

“Sean only arrived recently. And you said you can’t see who comes from far away,” Sara explains her surprise.

“Such trifles don’t change the circumstances, they don’t make the town bigger, and they don’t lessen the chances of meeting,” Josie states seriously.

“Yes, you’re right. It’s all the same faces,” the girl agrees. She sips the coffee carefully. The hostess picks up her cup, not touching the rim. “Why don’t you drink your coffee?” Sara looks cautiously at her friend.

“If I drink cold coffee now, my already icy heart will grow even colder,” Josie’s eyes become fixed on the black abyss of the cup.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she offers hesitantly, feeling partially to blame for the grief.

“Why didn’t they give him the dirty money in his hands?” she asks indignantly, not hearing the girl’s suggestion, and the question was loud enough.

“They were afraid, probably,” Sara supposes, trying to excuse the other guys.

“They should have been afraid to get involved in dark business!” Josie sets the cup down sharply. Dark coffee, as dark as a mother’s anger, spills onto the table. “You’re right, I need a walk. Why sit at home and wait for my husband to leave me too,” she goes into the room, exchanging a few words with the silent René. She comes out in a dark dress in black and red tones. Sara changes out of her house clothes. She only finds dark grey trousers and a white T-shirt. “Let’s go,” Josie whispers. “René is trying to sleep. I don’t know how he’ll manage.”

“Let’s go,” Sara seconds.

They leave the house quietly. Silently, they trudge along the desolate daytime street. The sun brings no joy to Josie. For her, it has been extinguished forever, along with the life in her son’s young body. Dark glasses conceal her eyes, wet with tears. The few people on the streets offer their condolences. It doesn’t make things easier. The homeowner holds tightly to Sara’s hand, as if afraid her legs might fail, that she might fall onto the sun-baked stones and never rise again. Josie looks at Sara, puzzled.

“I know for a fact they have one more job today,” Josephine says seriously.

“Yes, the last one,” Sara confirms with a glimmer of hope, realizing there’s no point in deceiving her friend; she knows everything. Probably even more than Sara does.

“The main thing is that it isn’t the last day of their young lives.”

“I hope it isn’t the last,” the girl sincerely wants to see Sean, and she won’t let him go on any more jobs.

“Hope all you want. But you should’ve talked the boy out of it,” Josie whispers with a reproach.

“I tried. It didn’t work,” the distressed girl sighs heavily.

“I understand. I tried to talk Mikhael out of it too. As you can see, I failed. I couldn’t do anything about it myself, yet all I can do is give advice,” the homeowner mutters, angry with herself.

“That’s excellent advice. You know boys; it’s practically impossible to talk them out of something once they get an idea in their heads.”

“Of course, I know,” Josie smiles sadly. “I’ve told you before, and still. Be prepared for anything. Dreams, though unreal, sometimes hint at the future or help us understand the present.”

“I never thought about it before, but now, thanks to you, I’m starting to understand,” the girl admits gratefully.

“You’ve realized it early. For me, understanding came around thirty-five, and you’re still so young,” she briefly squeezes Sara’s hand. “If you want, I can try to calm you down a little.”

“How?” Sara looks at her with hope.

“I think Sean will stay alive. You’ll leave, just as you planned. But those are my guesses. There are other possibilities for the future. I might not have seen correctly. Don’t count too much on the best outcome,” the experienced friend advises somberly.

“How do you know?” Sara is pleasantly surprised, clinging to the bright prediction.

“Along with understanding dreams came another kind of power. My twin sister died at thirty-five. She didn’t take me with her, as sometimes happens with twins. She gave me her life force. I started to understand, see, and feel more. But it’s not enough just to see. It’s far more important to be able to correctly influence events, but you can’t. It’s like you’re standing behind a barrier, watching the last snow leopard on the planet being killed before your eyes, and you can’t do anything. Only in life, you stand there and helplessly watch as loved ones are taken from you.”

“That’s awful,” Sara takes every word to heart.

“I envy those who are blind to fate,” Josephine sighs heavily. “Ignorance is much better than powerless contemplation.”

“I understand,” Sara whispers, feeling more and more sympathy for her friend.

“I doubt you realize the full extent of it,” Josie doesn’t hesitate to voice her thoughts plainly. “But your soul’s sensitivity is higher than that of most people. It’s visible to the naked eye.”

“Can that help, though?” Sara now doubts everything.

“It might help, or it might make things worse,” the homeowner muses. “Time will tell. Speaking of time. Let’s go back. You still need to pack.”

“That’s not so important right now,” Sara doesn’t want to prioritize her own matters over her friend’s grief.

“Actually, your matters are the most important right now. You need to save your life, and no one can bring Mikhael’s life back. All that’s left is to remember him with pain in my heart until my own heart stops.”

“I want to help, but I realize I can’t do anything good for you.”

“That’s the helplessness I spoke of,” Josephine reminds her. “Help yourself. That will be the best medicine for my soul, if at least things work out well for you.”

“I’ll try for your sake,” Sara promises.

“Try for your own sake and Sean’s. My life is over; think about yours.”

“Don’t say that,” Sara looks at her friend with sympathy, stroking her arm.

“For a parent, life ends when their child’s life is cut short.”

“You had a son, and that’s a beautiful thing,” Sara offers support.

“You’re right, I did. I felt happiness, but the pain of loss is much stronger than the joy of possession. I want to give you one more piece of advice.”

“What is it?” Sara understands that she should listen to Josie’s advice.

“Don’t have children yet,” she advises seriously and clearly.

“Why?” the girl certainly didn’t expect those words.

“You’ll understand later,” Josie falls into deep thought. “Or maybe you won’t.”

“What will we understand?” Sara’s thoughts are jumbled. It’s hard to grasp even the simplest words.

“I can’t say. It’s better if you don’t know yet. Just don’t have children.”

“All right. I’ll listen,” this isn’t the right time for arguments.

“And convince Sean. If everything works out well and he survives,” Josie adds more softly.

“Okay. I don’t think he’ll want children yet himself,” Sara smiles sadly. “It’s a very tense time.”

“Yes, you’re right. He’s sensible enough to realize that,” Josephine agrees.

Sara and Josie approach the house. The homeowner goes into her room. Renee’s voice is audible. The girl is glad; the owner’s heart hasn’t stopped yet, and judging by his voice, it will continue working for a while. She goes up to her room. First, she packs her art supplies. She folds the clothes she won’t wear again anytime soon.

She sits on the bed, deep in thought, not even sure what about. Sara gets even more nervous if she thinks while sitting. She stands up, goes out onto the balcony. The wildflowers cloud her mind, weakening the intensity of her worries. She prepares the payment for Josie’s rent. A little more than they agreed; it will come in handy. All that’s left is to wait.

The day flies by unnoticed. A fleeting evening sets in, followed immediately by night. Sara’s anxiety increases tenfold, maybe more. The city is habitually quiet, which means, for now, everything is fine. She stares at the flickering stars, trying to make out the constellations Sean told her about when they lay embraced on the warm earth of the vineyard.

A rumble echoes through the city. Sara flinches with a start. Then, silence. Her heart gives a light prickle. She mustn’t worry so much. There’s a risk of repeating René’s experience. Unable to stand the noisy solitude, she goes downstairs. The landlady is brewing coffee again, even though she knows too much coffee isn’t good. She understands what the young girl is going through. She’s been through it herself more than once.

They silently drink coffee at the table in the warm light of the chandelier. Josie seems a little calmer after the walk. If Sara could, she would take her friend out more often. The girl places an envelope with the money for rent on the table and pushes it closer to Josie. The landlady silently returns it. Sara doesn’t take it back, pushing it to the side. The envelope remains on the table.

A few hours pass. They can’t drink any more coffee; they’ll feel ill. They brew green tea to balance their blood pressure and occupy the nervous, silent evening. The hour hand nears midnight. The landlady glances more and more often at the clock and at Sara. The girl doesn’t know what to think. All her thoughts turn to the bad, offering no comfort at all. And she can’t switch them off.

When the clock face shows midnight, the landlady goes to her room. A couple of seconds later, she returns to the kitchen with something in her hands. When the light touches the object, Sara recognizes it as a crystal ball. Has Josie truly become so immersed in the world of foresight? The landlady takes a black saucer and places the ball in the deep indentation in the center.

The transparent sphere grows cloudy. It turns white first, then blue, yellow, and finally red. The last color is a deep burgundy, like the paint Sara still hasn’t used. The color of the memorable wine. Hers and Sean’s color. How does the ball know? Josie passes her hand over the crystal, and the sphere becomes transparent again.

“This is your one reliable amulet. Don’t let go of it until your escape is over,” Josie holds out the crystal ball to Sara.

“You think a crystal ball will save us?” the girl doubts.

“I am certain,” the landlady seriously insists. “You will understand when the chance comes. And it will definitely come.”

“All right, I’ll trust you,” she readily agrees, hoping for any help she can get. And the crystal ball might instill hope when things get truly difficult.

“Now, go upstairs and try to sleep for at least a couple of hours. I’ll wake you when Sean arrives,” the landlady advises persuasively.

“You know I won’t be able to sleep now,” both women understand.

“You must sleep. You have a long road ahead. Traveling is grueling and exhausting.”

“All right, I’ll try,” the girl doesn’t believe in a better option that would help her get through the waiting time.

Sara carefully takes the ball from the landlady’s hands. She goes upstairs and places the amulet on the nightstand near the bed. The lamplight scatters inside the crystal. The girl stares at the rays spreading across the room. She calms down a little, as if meditating on a candle flame. A grim vision comes to her. She stands in a field. A cool wind blows, but she isn’t cold. Sean’s jacket is on her shoulders. Everything around is gray and overcast. The thick grass has grown waist-high. The only creatures are ravens circling overhead. Just as in real life, she worries only about Sean now.

She clenches her palms and prays to all the saints she knows. She asks them to help her Sean escape from this mess alive, and to make sure he comes for her. She asks for a peaceful, happy life. A lightning flash streaks across the sky above. Thunder shakes the heavens. The grass around her stirs. A road stretches across the field. Someone is driving toward her from a distance. The car gets closer and closer. Sandy, which means Sean. The wheels race, kicking up clouds of dust. Sean stops next to Sara. The girl jumps into the car. They speed away flat out. The ravens that circled above her, standing alone in the field, transform into police cars and chase after them.

Sean slams the gas pedal. Sandy screams with strain. The smell of burning rubber fills the air. The police try to catch up. One by one, they drop out of the race. They lack the speed and resilience that Sean possesses. His eyes are glued to the road. Nothing will stop the determined young man. Looking at him, the girl feels an indescribable pride for her boyfriend.

The chase gradually dwindles. They are left alone on the road. Sara and Sean relax. They find a moment, and Sean can look at her. Their eyes meet. Smiles appear on their faces. Sara turns back to the road. Terror freezes her soul. A stone wall appears out of nowhere. Sean turns sharply. He doesn’t have time to react. It’s impossible to do anything. Sandy crashes at full speed into the wall. At the moment of impact, Sara regains consciousness on the second floor, in the rented room in Josie and René’s house.

At the fatal moment, the last thing she saw was Sean’s gaze. It is still right before her eyes. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her heart is beating so wildly it’s throbbing in her head. She no longer has the strength to wait out the night. She gets up and hurriedly pulls on sweatpants, sneakers, an old dark t-shirt, and a hooded sports jacket. She quietly goes downstairs and leaves the house, hoping not to wake the somber hosts. She knows Josie will surely try to dissuade her, will tie her to something, anything, just to keep her home on this anxious night for everyone.

The rebel inside Sara awakens. She makes her way along the same path she and Sean took to the hiding place that sheltered the beautiful outlaws. It’s dark outside. No wonder—it’s the middle of the night. Normal people are asleep at this hour, but Sara is walking down a narrow path along the quiet river under the trees toward the secret lair of dangerous criminals, and among them is her Sean. Others are involved in the business too. For the first time this evening, she has doubts. There is no turning back.

Only a few meters remain to the spot. Behind her, she hears heavy footsteps on the fine gravel of the path. She hides in the bushes. A familiar young man walks past. François, the same one who came to her with wine and flowers. Sean meets him by the gate. They shake hands with no particular joy in the meeting. The unsuccessful suitor goes into the dock. Sara creeps closer. She sees a small crack in the corrugated metal side of the criminal hideout. Enough to see what is happening inside. The main thing is that Sean is alive and well. Nothing else matters much. So far, there are only four of them. François is telling Sean something. Sara listens carefully.

“Can you imagine, the other day I put on my best shirt, my favorite pants and shoes, bought a bottle of good wine and a bouquet of the most expensive flowers. All dressed up like that, I went to see a girl. Most likely she’s a foreigner,” the premier handsome man of Solyè recounts emotionally.

“What makes you think she’s a foreigner?” Sean coolly keeps the conversation going, killing time.

“We definitely don’t have anyone that beautiful here,” François laughs, ashamed of the local girls.

“What happened next?” Sean is not in the mood to listen to the annoying laugh. And Sara finds it sickening to hear.

“I arrive. The landlady opens the door. She calls the renter. The girl comes down, looks at me with such a gaze that I just wanted to sink right into the ground.”

“And did you sink?” Sean smirks.

“I stood my ground. She was a tough girl, she was. You could tell right away she has spirit. But not that much spirit.”

“And how did it all end?” the guy doesn’t like this friendly chat with a person he certainly never wants to be friends with.

“She turned me down. Can you imagine! Said she has a boyfriend, and there’s no one better than him. I envy the guy. He’s probably handsome and has money. That’s all girls value now,” François muses, feeling unworthy.

“Did you keep the flowers? Did you smell them on the way?” Sean asks with irritated sarcasm.

“I gave them to the landlady of the house, and I took the wine with me,” François answers quite happily.

“Just don’t tell me you drank the wine before the job,” Sean objects.

“Are you kidding! How could I! You know I don’t drink on such important days. Just one glass,” he adds with an unpleasant smirk.

“Watch out that one glass doesn’t affect all our health later,” Sean says sternly and angrily. He seems to be the one who wants to get out of here more than anyone.

“Everything will be fine. Don’t worry,” François pats the irritated Sean on the shoulder. After a hard glare, the cheeky man takes his hand away.

“Who is the girl?” Sean feels sorry for the poor girl.

“What girl?” François looks as if he’s run out of stupid thoughts in his head.

“The one you went to see,” the guy reminds him.

“I didn’t catch the name,” François smirks. “If I even heard it,” he laughs even more disagreeably. Sean is disgusted. He turns away toward the yachts so he doesn’t have to look at the unpleasant face.

“Did you remember whose house it was?” the guy decides to continue the conversation so as not to make an enemy tonight and to speed up the time.

“I remembered that! The only thing I remembered. You remember Josephine? Mikhael’s mother.”

“Mikhael’s mother?!” Sean’s voice instantly rises by several tones.

“What’s wrong with you?!” François is surprised and tenses up.

“And is the girl, by any chance, named Sara?” Sean clenches his fists. It looks like a fight to the death is about to happen.

“I told you, I don’t know. I don’t remember. I didn’t even hear it,” the unsuccessful lover justifies himself. “What is it with you?! Do you know her or something?”

“I'm the boyfriend she was talking about,” Sean grinds his teeth viciously.

“You?” François is lost for words. “Sorry, man, I didn’t know!”

“Now you do. Not another word about her. And it’s better not to mention Josephine; she lost her son because of us.”

“Why because of us? That was Mikhael’s personal decision,” an arrogant grimace appears on his face.

“He saved your skin too!” Sean snaps. He punches François in the face with his fist. “You ungrateful snake!” he raises his arm again. The other two hold back the fight.

“What are you saying! He was just slower to react than we were!” François keeps shouting from a distance, knowing they’ll keep Sean held back. “He probably didn’t even have time to think about anything.”

“Oh, so that’s what you think!” now the guy who was holding Sean back hits him.

“Anri! That’s it! Enough!” the fourth man calms everyone down. “After the job, François is not with us. Is everyone agreed?” he looks at the others.

“Agreed!” the whole team decides unanimously. Including François.

“I can’t wait,” the unlucky suitor mutters. He steps away from everyone. He is poking a wooden stand under the yacht with a knife.

“Do you hear that?” Sean whispers, listening to the river.

“What is it?” the other one answers. Anri, it seems, was his name.

“A motorboat,” the guy realizes.

Sara watches the dark river closely. A boat with two people approaches the dock. Sean opens the gate. The boat smoothly pulls in. Anri ties the mooring lines and lowers a small gangway. Two men in black windbreakers, a gym bag in hand, climb onto the pier. A tense François stands off to the side. A fourth man walks out to the street to keep watch. Sean moves closer to them. Anri stands nearby. They face each other, two against two. Sean is as composed as the two arrivals. Anri is slightly nervous. François is ready to bolt at any moment, his face bewildered.

“Is this all?” one of the boat’s passengers scans the yachts in the dock.

“Yes, there won’t be any more,” Sean replies calmly.

“You’re not leaving any successors behind?” he inquires more casually about the future.

“No. We’re shutting down completely,” the young man states the decision firmly.

“A shame, it’s a profitable business. You could’ve made a lot more. We could have made something, too.”

“We have enough,” Sean answers coldly, trying to speed up and shorten the conversation.

“Why the sudden change?” the man in the black jacket asks more sharply.

“Heavy pockets make it hard to walk,” Sean jokes seriously.

“And empty ones can cost you a leg,” the second man adds.

“I want to manage to spend the money I’ve earned,” Sean looks at the bag.

“Don’t worry, you’ll manage,” the second man replies with a sneer.

“So, you’re taking everything?” the man clarifies the terms of the deal.

“Wrap it up in a gift package,” the man with the bag in his hands jokes without humor.

“Show me the money,” Sean’s seriousness only intensifies.

“You don’t trust us?” the arrival unzips the bag.

“I trust you just enough not to count it,” Sean hands over the documents.

“Are these the papers for all the vessels?” the participant in the deal clarifies.

“Yes, we processed them quickly, but with quality. I vouch for it,” the serious Sean assures him.

“Of course, you vouch for it; if something’s wrong, you’ll be held accountable. And we’ll hold you accountable in a big way, you can be sure of that,” the yacht buyer threatens persistently.

“Everything’s in order,” Sean insists calmly, without looking at the papers.

“Well, we’ll see,” Sean is handed the bag in exchange for the documents.

“No sudden movements!” François pulls a pistol from under his shirt. “Give me the money!” he sweeps the pistol around, taking everyone in turn into his sights.

“What kind of tricks are these?!” one of the buyers exclaims indignantly.

“Even a kid could spot these fakes,” the unsuccessful rogue points his heavy pistol at the documents Sean gave them.

“Are you out of your mind?” Sean tries not to show his tension. He poorly conceals his emotions.

“Let’s do this. I take the bag, and you all stay here and decide what you’re going to do to each other,” the traitor brazenly dictates the terms.

“What are you doing?!” Anri yells at François, distracting him from the others.

One of the thugs seizes the moment and shoots the despicable traitor. François doesn’t even have time to say anything. He falls dead. Hit in the heart. The second man shoots Anri, hitting his leg—not as accurate as the first. Sean shoves both of them into the water, grabs the bag, and jumps into the motorboat. The two men in black try to climb aboard. Sean manages to start the engine, fending off both of them with a folding knife. Anri unties the mooring lines, unable to climb aboard himself with his bullet-ridden leg.

“Go,” Anri waves his hand, letting the young man leave alone. One more sacrifice for Sean, who, assessing the hopeless situation, speeds away from the dock. Her precious man got away, which means she can leave with a clear conscience. It’s long past time.

Sara glances back. Shouts are audible in the dock. A gunshot cuts off Anri’s last words. The girl runs toward the city as quietly as the soft soles of her sneakers and the grass alongside the path allow. The dock walls prevent the bandits from hearing her. She runs and thinks about everything she has just witnessed. Two people were killed right before her eyes, and Sean was almost killed. A lucky guy. He escaped them. What if he also escaped from her? Did he really abandon her for money and his own safety? Even if so, at least he remains alive.

It’s strange where the fourth man, the one who was standing guard, disappeared to. He probably ran off immediately when he heard the noise and sensed the danger. Her breath is completely ragged by the time she reaches the house. She paces by the door to recover slightly. She quietly goes inside. The owners are asleep. Lucky break. She goes up to her room. She takes off her damp sportswear. She steps into the warm shower. She washes away some of the emotions and anxieties, then dries herself with a soft towel. She goes into her room.

She puts on a long T-shirt. She lies down on the soft bed for the final time. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest, preventing her from thinking clearly. Thoughts creep up on her that Sean has left Solyè and abandoned her here alone. Or, even worse, they caught up to him. Maybe they killed him. And here she lies calmly, resting as if after a movie, pitying herself. The final words and movements of François and Anri keep flashing before her eyes. She didn’t know the guys, but they were people. She disliked François immediately. Anri seemed like a pretty good guy, someone she could have befriended. Could have.

She looks at the suitcase near the door. Perhaps it won’t be needed. Since she decided to leave, she chooses another city for herself. Just in case Sean doesn’t come for her. She doesn’t know any names and has lost the map. And there she is, at a dead end. If she decides to run away, she won’t have trouble finding a new place. France is big. And it doesn’t have to be France. Europe is even bigger, and she is free. She could travel the whole world if she wanted. But she doesn’t want to without Sean. She can’t imagine another life. Her whole world now revolves around him, like the Earth around the Sun.

Deep down, she still hopes that the guy will come back for her, and together they will leave the horror forever. All the bad things will be forgotten, life will normalize, and they will live like normal people. The crystal ball near the bed glows a blood-red light. Sean’s color. He must have arrived. The bell in Sara’s room rings with high, joyful tones. Yes, he is here. He came for her; he didn’t abandon her. How happy the girl is.

It’s almost four in the morning. Daybreak is coming soon. There’s very little time left. She needs to pack quickly. She glances around in a panic. Everything was packed yesterday evening. It’s a good thing she thought ahead. She grabs her suitcase and the crystal sphere. She leaves her small backpack in the room, on the made bed. Let Josie look at the paintings and the backpack and remember Sara whenever she feels particularly sad. Josephine needs her friends more than Sara does. She has Sean.

She rushes out of the room. Sean comes up to meet her. He kisses her, silently takes the suitcase, and carries it downstairs. His damp hair is disheveled, his breathing is ragged. His clothes are dirty, wet, and torn in places. He is grimy, as if he’d been unloading train cars full of coal all night. It’s much easier to look at such a sight when you know where he was and what he was doing, instead of the thousand guesses that chaotically arise in your head when you see something like this.

She doesn’t regret going there for a second, because she was beside her loved one in a difficult moment. Though no one else knows, she feels calmer this way, despite everything that happened there. The girl witnessed terrible things, but none of it matters; Sean came back to her.

“Thank you for everything!” Sara sincerely thanks Josie. Her voice has changed; it is slightly harsher than it was on the day she arrived. She hugs the hostess and kisses her on the cheek.

“I am grateful too,” Josie smiles. “You were here during the hardest moment for me. Those few hours with you were a real breath of fresh air in the darkness of misfortune. You cured the silent death of my soul.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, dear Josie. Try to recover, okay? For my sake,” she asks with a kind smile.

“I’ll try,” her friend sighs heavily.

“Promise?” Sara insists.

“I promise,” the woman smiles lightly. “I won’t tell anyone about your late-night walk,” Josie whispers.

“You knew I went and let me go?” Sara asks, holding back her surprise.

“Of course, I knew. Of course, I let you go. Remember I told you, mothers know and sense everything. And you have become like a real daughter to me. How could I not let you go, knowing how important it was to you? I was like that myself. Do you think René is a perfect angel? He messed up in his youth too,” Josie waves her hand toward the room. “That’s why his heart gives him trouble after everything he’s been through. I’m surprised I haven’t fallen ill myself,” she shakes her head in disbelief.

“Thank you for everything,” Sara hugs the hostess once more. “Say goodbye for me to your wonderful and romantic husband,” she recalls with a smile the morning when René understandingly discussed her feelings after the vineyard.

“Why send a message through someone else when you can say goodbye to me yourself?” the master of the house comes out of the room with a smile, opening his arms wide.

“And thank you very much for the company. Get well soon,” Sara hugs and kisses René on the cheek, like a close family member.

“And thank you for being a beautiful flower in the abandoned field of our old age,” René laughs, looking at his wife. “It’s unlikely there will be anything colorful in our house again.”

“What are you saying! You have a beautiful blooming field. Enjoy each other. Cherish the treasure you have,” René hugs Josie, and Sara hugs both of them. “Most families in the world envy you.”

“Goodbye, my girl,” the hostess whispers in a sad, motherly voice. “Take care of both of you!” Josephine strictly orders, looking Sean in the eyes. “You are our children now. We will worry about you as if you were our own. When everything settles down, be sure to write us a letter; don’t forget.”

“I understand everything, I will,” Sean replies seriously.

“Goodbye, we certainly will never forget you,” Sara assures the hosts. “If we’re lucky, we’ll even see each other again.”

“Go quickly, there is very little time,” Josie urges.

“Okay. All the best to you!” Sara and Sean hug René and Josie. It was a true family farewell.

Sean takes the suitcase. He hurries out into the pre-dawn street. Sara silently looks at the hosts and follows him with the crystal sphere in her hands. Beyond the threshold, the crystal immediately goes dark.

It’s still dark outside. Sean walks ahead. Sara catches up and takes his free hand. They leave the city on the fourth side, an area they haven’t visited once during their entire stay in Solyè. Near the last house, Sandy, cold from the night, is waiting. She’s wearing the same faded red dress, now adorned with tiny droplets of dew.

Sean loads the suitcase into the trunk. He helps Sara into the car. He closes the warped door with a quick, skillful slam. He runs around the front and gets behind the wheel. Sandy wakes up only on the second try. As usual. Sean expertly turns the car around. They speed off without headlights onto the ring road to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

Sara doesn’t ask how everything went. She knows everything herself. At least, up until the escape. She quietly rejoices that he came to her. Most importantly, he is safe and sound. His clothes are badly torn in places. She managed to check the questionable spots while they were in the house. She noticed only a few scratches. He has bruises, but no blood is gushing anywhere, which is already good.

She looks at him, then at the road. Sean’s gaze is fixed only on the road. At this speed, he can’t be distracted, especially without headlights, or all their efforts will be for nothing. The girl turns around. On the back seat is a dusty black bag, similar to, but not the one she saw at the dock. Through small holes on the side, she can see colored strips of paper. She looks closer. Money, definitely. He actually managed to retrieve the payment received for the yachts. She turns her eyes away so as not to make Sean nervous.

She gazes again at the dark road. She remembers the dream in which they crash into a wall on this very road while driving at full speed. And without headlights, the chances of crashing increase considerably. The girl has never told Sean about her dreams before, so he wouldn’t start thinking even worse things. Sara remains alone with her scary visions.

The guy is extremely tense and focused right now. Most likely, the road isn’t his only worry. He’s pensive. He mentally relives everything that happened tonight one more time. Dawn breaks. Sirens are faintly audible in the distance. The dream is coming true. Sean sharply checks the side mirror. He glances around. His intense, penetrating gaze settles on the thick bushes beneath the lush trees by the road.

He kills the noisy engine. Braking, he steers the car into the thicket on the remaining momentum. He manages to hide. The sunrise turns out to be so red that its rays conceal the red car even among the green foliage. It is thanks to the colors of nature that the police cars drive past. Perhaps luck helped too.

Sara doesn’t tell Sean that when the police approached them and momentarily slowed down to inspect the bushes, the sphere in her hands grew warm. It seemed to have affected their pursuers. The car engines roared again, and the police drive further away, tearing the morning with their sirens. The fugitives remain alone, watching the sunrise.

“What are you doing?” Sara asks quietly and calmly.

“Sandy is too noticeable for these parts,” Sean takes the keys from the ignition, gets out of the car, pulls the bag of money from the back seat, and takes the suitcase from the trunk. The guy hides the sadness of parting with the car. Sandy introduced them and helped them out in the most difficult moment. “Goodbye, darling,” he gently strokes the roof. His fingers leave streaks on the morning dew.

“Goodbye, friend,” the girl runs her fingers across the glass, leaving a small heart on the window.

“We need to go,” Sean gently reminds her. He kisses the keys and throws them into the field.

“Yes, let’s go,” Sara smiles sadly at her dear friend and follows her beloved.

The couple leaves the car there. They walk the rest of the way. They can’t move along the road; they would be instantly spotted and thrown in prison. Or, what’s worse, they could be found by other terrifying people looking for Sean and their money. Then they’d really be in trouble. They walk directly through the vineyards.

After several long hours of walking through the straight rows of branched vines and flowering fields, they emerge onto a dirt road. Sean helps Sara walk the entire time, holding her hand tightly. He carries the suitcase. The bag of money hangs on his back like a backpack. The sun rises higher and higher. It is noticeably getting hotter. They wrap Sara’s T-shirts around their heads. After another hour of walking on the dirt road, a small village appears.

Thirty houses are arranged in three rows, and a luxurious front garden is planted next to each one. Some residents keep livestock. Cows, pigs, chickens, and geese graze in nearby plots. Most have their own vegetable gardens by their homes. Children play in the streets. Along the road leading into the village, everything is neat and well-kept, as if it were one large estate rather than a collection of houses. In short, it’s a cozy village. They decide to stay here for the time being. The main thing is they've put enough distance between themselves and the place where they might be searched for.

“Do you think they’ll accept us here, or will they chase us away?” Sara whispers, noticing how everyone is staring at them.

“I think everything will be fine,” Sean reassures her with a smile. “Look, they’re watching with interest, not suspicion or malice.”

“Yes, and that’s strange.” The friendly reception greatly surprises the couple from America. The attitude toward strangers here is completely different. And in their current state, no one harbors any dark thoughts. On the contrary, there’s a genuine desire to help.

“Good morning!” Sean greets an elderly married couple observing them from their doorstep.

“Good morning,” the man replies, retaining his composure, a little embarrassed by his naive interest in the strangers.

“We got a little lost, took the wrong road. And we liked your little town so much that we decided to stay. If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Why would we mind?” the woman on the doorstep asks with a surprised smile.

“I don’t know, maybe the locals don’t like outsiders,” Sean suggests with a smile, quietly hoping for the best.

“Things like this are a real joy for the locals,” the man soothes him with a smile. “It’s been so quiet and peaceful here for so long. Everyone’s gotten bored. At least you’ll be a bit of variety for us.”

“We’d be happy to,” Sara is sincerely glad they aren’t being chased out of the village.

“Could you tell us where we might be able to stay? Maybe someone has a room?” the young man tries to immediately resolve the most important question for the fugitives.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy staying with any of the locals,” the man chuckles softly. “If you’re not squeamish and are ready to do a little work, walk to the end of the village, and you’ll understand.”

“All right, thank you!” Sean thanks him with a smile.

“Thank you very much!” Sara waves gratefully to the married couple.

“We’re happy to help,” the woman waves back with a smile.

“And here’s the promised lodging,” the weary couple reaches the end of the village. Sean points out an abandoned house.

No, it isn’t dilapidated, dirty, or scary. It was left by the previous family who moved to the big city. Sara and Sean ask permission from the locals. Their new neighbors gladly allow them to settle in it. So why not establish a home in the cozy little town? The house greets its new occupants with the friendly creak of doors. A list of tasks for restoring the house forms in Sean’s mind, tired from the chase.

“It’s nice in here,” Sara looks around inside. “Two rooms and a kitchen.”

“A young family’s dream,” Sean hugs and kisses Sara.

“Look, the previous owners left all the furniture,” the girl is as delighted as if they’d been given a real key to happiness.

“Thank you to our caring friends,” Sean sets the suitcase in one of the rooms and hides the bag in the root cellar in the backyard, which he found when he went out to check the visibility and openness of the shelter to searchers. Sara takes all the blankets and tablecloths outside. The sheets were in the drawers, all white, too.

“My, how everything has changed!” the locals exclaim in admiration, curious to meet their new neighbors.

“The doors are oiled, and the windows and cupboard doors are washed and tightened up so they don’t hang as if after an earthquake,” the young man proudly boasts about the work he’s done.

“Well done, you’re resourceful folks,” an astonished man praises them, looking closely and checking everything in the house.

“A few hours of care changes everything beyond recognition,” Sara notes contentedly. She gathered all the dust with a broom and rags she found in the pantry. She washed the floors, beat the rugs, and aired everything out with fresh meadow air. The pillows hang behind the house, baking in the sun.

“We brought you some food,” the caring neighbors share their attention and provisions.

“Thank you very much,” Sara is a little shy but gladly accepts the thoughtful gestures of the locals.

“We understand,” the woman who first saw the new residents says with a smile. “It’s clear you’ve traveled a long, difficult way. And you probably haven’t had time to think about food. And there isn’t a shop or a market here. The whole village eats what they grow,” it’s not out of the question that the vegetables and fruits Sara saw on the shelves in Solyè came from this very welcoming village. “Rest up. We’re going to feed the children.”

“We’re endlessly grateful,” Sean sincerely thanks the neighbors for saving them.

“Have a pleasant evening,” the man replies with a smile, leading his wife home.

“And you have a good evening,” the girl sees off their new friends and immediately goes to the kitchen to prepare their first dinner. “Do you mind if I just make a salad so I don’t have to cook for long?”

“That’s the right idea! The faster, the better,” Sean laughs, carefully setting the cutlery on the dining table. “Just make a lot of salad!”

“Okay! I’m starving, too,” Sara laughs, slicing vegetables with the last of her strength. “And our salad is ready!” she happily announces the best news of the evening.

“Great! Let me help,” the young man puts the large bowl of salad on the table.

“It’s so good that you’re so thoughtful. I don’t even have the energy to put the salad on the table,” Sara’s smile betrays her accumulated fatigue.

“Tell me about it,” he moves a chair, helping the girl sit down, and kisses her gently. “Has this endless day finally ended?” Sean sighs heavily with a smile, sitting down opposite her.

“The work paid off. We can live here now,” Sara immediately finds the most significant reason to rejoice, surveying the work done. “And we have excellent neighbors,” they heartily eat their dinner of generous gifts from nature and their neighbors.

“I agree. And the food is perfectly made,” Sean praises the girl’s cooking skills with a smile.

“If everything works out, we can even start our own little garden. We’ll grow vegetables for salads ourselves. Maybe we’ll even get some livestock.”

“We can do all that,” the young man smiles a little thoughtfully. “We just need to wait a bit, and then we’ll see what we can do.”

“We’ll wait,” Sara sighs with a sad yet happy smile. They eat in silence. They have no strength left for talking. And the only questions in their heads concern sad and forbidden topics. “What if we have to leave?” she can’t bear the mental tension.

“If we have to, we’ll move somewhere else,” Sean answers calmly. “We can move to a new city every month if we want to. You crossed an ocean to travel, not to sit in one place.”

“Oh, right! We were born to travel,” they burst into ringing laughter together, almost to the point of tears. The laughter releases the tension from their minds and souls. “You ate that so fast,” Sara is surprised, looking at the young man with wide-open eyes.

“Actually, you ate just as much five minutes ago,” Sean smiles, glad that the recent events haven’t taken away the girl’s appetite.

“And now we need to clear everything from the table,” the tired girl says heavily and softly.

“Don’t worry about it; you rest,” Sean stops her with a kiss. “I’ll clear everything myself,” miraculously, the young man finds the strength to tidy up the kitchen. He washes the dishes and puts everything away. “See how simple everything is,” he contentedly wipes his hands with a kitchen towel.

“I see how wonderful you are,” the girl smiles happily, looking at the young man.

“You still have to get up to wash. Although,” the young man thinks seriously. “No, you don’t,” he picks the girl up in his arms.

“It’s like we’re in a fairy tale,” Sara doesn’t stop being pleasantly surprised.

“I hope the water has warmed up during the day for our fairy tale,” he carefully carries her to the outdoor shower he found behind the house.

“Could anything be better?” Sara whispers blissfully, standing under the small, genuine warm waterfall.

“Only sweet sleep could be better,” Sean chuckles softly, hugging the girl.

“I’m already anticipating the pleasure,” Sara daydreams.

“Then let’s not put off the pleasant moment,” the young man gently and tenderly wraps Sara in a large bath towel that he prepared in advance and carries her to the double bed in the bedroom, which she had wisely made up with a white sheet earlier.

“This bed seems as soft as the one at Josie and René’s house. Or even softer,” the girl remembers with a sad smile.

“With a bed like this, our life will definitely get better,” Sean notices her sadness and cheers her up with a smile.

“It will get better,” sleepy Sara whispers happily, closing her eyes.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” the young man whispers barely audibly and gently kisses her cheek.

“My love,” the girl whispers the key word with a smile and falls asleep.

“We’ll manage,” Sean whispers and falls asleep beside her.

“Good morning,” Sara wakes up to the sun streaming through the clean windows. She stretches without opening her eyes. “Sean,” her eyes snap open when she doesn’t find Sean next to her. “Oh, no. It can’t be,” she worries deeply that something terrible might have happened to him while she slept. She gets up and throws on something from her bag. She hears hammering. She steps outside.

“Good morning!” Sean waves with a smile, noticing her. The young man and some other man are replacing the rotting boards on the house’s siding.

“Good morning,” Sara sighs with relief. She goes back into the room. Her shorts are on the floor, apparently having fallen during the night, and next to them lies a folded piece of paper. She picks up the shorts and the small white bundle. “Interesting,” she reads what is written inside. “Thank you so much, Josie,” it turns out her friend has given her the recipe for her signature coffee. A pleasant warmth spreads through her heart. She gently presses the reminder of her hostess to her relieved heart. “What a wonderful idea,” the girl takes the recipe with a smile, carefully putting the shorts back on the chair. She heads to the kitchen. Among the groceries they brought yesterday are ground coffee and spices. “How grateful I am to all of you,” Sara still can’t quite believe how lucky they are with their new home and neighbors. From memory, she finds the necessary aromatic additions. She can’t find a turk, but a suitable stainless steel saucepan is in one of the kitchen cabinets. While the coffee is brewing, she glances out the window above the stove. “It’s so beautiful here,” she gazes at the country landscape with delight. “What if they find us even here?” she is instantly distraught with fear. The killers could arrive at any moment and take away their happiness. “Oh, I need to focus more,” she almost missed it, but she remembered the coffee just in time. Her mood improves with the fragrant beverage. She pours the coffee into the small cups, the very smallest ones in the house, maintaining the tradition of taste connoisseurs. She takes a small tray from the cupboard, polishes it until it shines, and carries it outside.

“We can smell the aroma all the way over here,” Sean and his assistant are pleasantly surprised by the homeowner’s treat.

“Excellent coffee,” the neighbor sincerely praises the drink, savoring the special flavor.

“Better than any café,” Sean compliments with a smile.

“It’s a special recipe,” the girl smiles contentedly. “Did I really manage to replicate Josie’s success?”

“I think you did,” the young man nods, thinking.

“My friend added the most important secret to the recipe,” Sara grins slyly, concealing the main thing. If you want to brew truly wonderful coffee, when you add the ingredients and pour in the water, think of the people dearest to you. Sara did just that. She thought of Sean, Josephine, and René. She also remembered the gray-haired artist, the owner of the shop where she bought the excellent paints that helped create her two best friends, Linda and Myra, who stayed behind to support Josie. “My name is Sara, by the way,” the girl introduces herself with a smile. Only then does she realize that Sean might have introduced himself under different names.

“I’m Samuel,” the man smiles amiably.

“Everything’s fine,” the young man whispers, easing his beloved’s worries.

“And what is your last name?” the neighbor simply asks, keeping the conversation going.

“Newbird,” Sean answers confidently. “Sara and Sean Newbird,” Sara looks at him with a surprised smile. She accepts the new last name with immense pleasure. A shared last name. They feel like a real married couple, a young couple starting their life together.

“That’s a beautiful name,” the man praises with a smile. “It suits you.”

“Thank you,” the ‘spouses’ exchange glances, smiling happily.

“Are you from America?” Samuel easily guesses.

“Is it that obvious?” Sean grins.

“Yes,” the man answers directly. “You have more caution in your eyes than the French.”

“Events change one’s attitude toward everything, and so one’s perspectives change too,” Sara explains with a sad smile.

“The main thing in life is to keep an optimistic attitude; your perspectives will change constantly,” the man assures them, returning to work. “Thank you very much for the wonderful coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” Sara smiles as she takes the cups from the workers.

“Thank you,” Sean whispers in her ear and kisses her on the cheek.

“Don’t overwork yourselves,” the caring girl reminds them, heading back inside.

“We won’t,” the men laugh.

Sara carries the empty cups, which still hold warmth. She returns to the cozy dwelling. She washes and dries the dishes. She puts everything back in its place. She goes into the bedroom. She takes the crystal ball out of her bag. It is calm and transparent. A summer breeze brings the sharp scent of paint and thinner into the room. The girl inhales the familiar smell. They’ve started painting the house, and it reminds Sara of her French period of creativity.

“Your time has come,” the artist smiles, taking out her easel and the canvas she bought the day before. “My little piece of paradise. Thank you, ‘Ancien Artiste’,” she recalls the old artist, looking out the window. “This is much more interesting,” the palette looks fresher with the new colors. Today, she wants to use the palette she used before. “I see landscapes every day. I’ve done abstract. How about we paint the inner beauty of our wonderful house?” she looks around the new interior with interest. She loves it so much here that she wants to capture this comforting place. “What if we have to run away again? This way, we’ll have our home in a suitcase.”

For the first time since they met, Sara and Sean create art together. Sara paints on canvas, and the young man works on the wooden boards that shelter their new home from hardship. They both strive, pouring their wishes, souls, and hope for the best into their work. The result is just as it should be. There is nothing more beautiful than something created with soul. And another day ends.

“We’re done,” a satisfied Sean returns to the house.

“You’re covered in paint,” the girl smears a streak of white paint on his cheek with her thumb.

“You are too,” Sean laughs, making a multicolored stripe of paint drops on Sara’s face.

“I only have a little bit left,” the girl finishes painting.

“We have two houses now,” Sean examines the recreated interior on the canvas. “Realistic,” the young man respectfully evaluates the striking similarity to the interior and the added elements.

“Now, to the shower!” Sara soaks her brushes in a jar and puts away all her supplies.

“We have to conserve water. Let’s go together,” the young man playfully reminds her.

“I didn’t have any other option,” the girl laughs. They help each other wash off the paint. The young man caresses her adored body as if spellbound.

“Unique romance,” Sean remarks with a smile. Clean in body and mind, they walk into the kitchen, lit by a bare bulb on a wire.

“I’m starting to get used to this,” Sara whispers with a smile. They prepare dinner with the fresh groceries.

“I get used to this quickly too,” the young man admits.

“It would be great if it was always like this,” the girl whispers, so as not to scare away their happiness.

“We’ll try our best; the rest isn’t up to us,” Sean hugs Sara from behind, kissing her neck.

“We will try,” the girl grips the knife handle tighter in her hand.

“Watch out, don’t saw through the cutting board,” they laugh together, noticing the pressure she is putting on the knife. They have a delicious dinner, shower together, and go to bed right away, just like yesterday.

“Will it really be like this forever?” the girl voices the slightly frightening thought that flashes through her mind.

“Monotony is the flip side of a peaceful life.”

“Aren’t you scared they’ll find us?” Sara whispers, lying in Sean’s embrace.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the young man replies jokingly, hugging the girl tighter.

“You’re right, let’s not worry before it happens,” Sara agrees, driving away the gloomy thoughts.

“Until tomorrow,” Sean kisses her on the cheek and closes his eyes.

“Until tomorrow,” Sara whispers, remembering their sunrises. Soon, they fall asleep together, holding each other.

“This is lovely,” Sara stretches in a familiar way, happy that the new day has arrived.

“Today is the real start of a new life,” Sean recalls happily. “The house is cared for inside, and renovated and painted outside. The white beauty with a new shingled roof is the equal of the neighboring houses.”

“Just one final touch remains. We need to set up a front garden,” Sara remembers with enthusiasm. “Where should we put it?”

“Let’s put it under the tree that grows next to the house,” the guy muses aloud.

“Yes, that will be nice there,” the girl agrees, mentally picturing how everything will look.

“We’ll hide from the whole world behind the flowerbed and the branches of our lush tree.”

“I’ll get to work on the front garden today,” Sara decides confidently, looking out the window. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve been thinking about how we should thank the neighbors for their hospitality,” Sean shares aloud the thoughts he’s been considering since their first day in the new house.

“That’s a great idea,” the happy girl supports him cheerfully. “We’ll throw a housewarming party and invite everyone.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” Sean kisses Sara on the cheek and gets out of bed. He gets dressed. “While it’s still morning, I need to drive into town and buy everything we don’t have here.”

“But what are you going to drive?” the girl asks in surprise, recalling the morning she said goodbye to her friend, Sandy.

“Samuel has a pickup. I can rent it. Or even better, I’ll buy it if the neighbor will sell it,” the guy recalls pleasantly that now he has new opportunities.

“Just don’t go to Solyè,” Sara asks seriously.

“Of course, I won’t go there,” Sean reassures her with a smile. “There’s another small town not far from here.”

“And ask Samuel to go with you. He’ll help and advise you on what to buy,” the girl expresses her concern in a veiled way, worrying about the guy’s safety.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sean assures her with a smile.

“See you later,” the girl whispers sadly.

“See you soon,” the guy kisses Sara and runs out of the house.

The men drive to the neighboring town. The guy walks through the streets in tension. Carelessness could cost them their lives. And Samuel could suffer because of him. Many people suffer when they are near the guy. As a local, the neighbor knows everything and confidently buys interesting goods that everyone in their village likes. Meanwhile, Sara is actively transforming the patch of ground under the large tree that guards their house like a sentinel. Everyone has something to do. Life proceeds smoothly and calmly.

“You’ve been gone so long,” Sara greets the men near the front garden.

“Only a couple of hours have passed,” Sean looks at his watch with a smile as he steps out of the wine-colored pickup, which is a little darker than Sandy’s dress. “What beauty,” he examines the promising patch of living beauty next to the house.

“It’s only just beginning,” Sara says modestly with a smile. “We need to call the neighbors.”

“We’ve already told everyone,” Samuel says contentedly.

“And how much time do we have to prepare?” the girl remembers that she needs to do a lot to get ready for the housewarming.

“No one will start arriving until sunset,” the experienced local confidently replies.

“We need to hurry,” the girl smooths the earth with a small shovel and runs into the house. “Bring everything in here!”

“With pleasure,” Sean carries in the first bags of groceries.

“Is it okay that I invited a couple of neighborhood women to help you?” Samuel admits with a smile.

“That’s wonderful!” Sara praises happily, realizing that she can’t manage it all by herself.

Preparations are in full swing. Sean and his new friend prepare everything for the evening. The men bring in and cover the tables with tablecloths. Children help carry chairs and benches. Women arrange large platters of brightly colored food. Almost all the neighbors agreed to participate in the housewarming. Some simply weren’t home, working in the city, and they wouldn’t have refused either. Everyone gathers at sunset, just as Samuel had anticipated. The heat has left the streets of the friendly little spot. The evening lanterns are lit.

“My stock from last year. It’s matured. Now the taste is even richer,” Samuel sets pitchers of grape juice and wine on the tables. “When I saw this couple, I immediately knew the wine would come in handy soon,” everyone at the table laughs, recalling the first days of the new neighbors.

The adults talk, laugh, and share impressions and thoughts. Everyone has their own worries, joys, and difficulties. Everyone has interesting life experience. But everyone only recounts good and cheerful things. There is no place for sad stories at a housewarming table. Sara and Sean sit at the head of the table, listening with pleasure to the neighbors’ stories. Children run around, occasionally rushing over to grab treats. They talked until late evening. They would have liked to stay longer, but they needed to put the children to bed. And they needed to go to bed themselves; tomorrow is a new workday. Sara and the neighboring women clear the dishes from the tables. Sean and his helpers deal with the tables, chairs, and benches.

“Good night, everyone!” the young neighbors wish the others.

“The housewarming was a success! We need to do it again!” the satisfied residents of the village disperse to their homes.

“That was great,” a satisfied Sara says with a smile, assessing the evening as she walks into the house.

“Look what we have here,” Sean takes out the bottle of that very wine and the two small glasses from their first date.

“You kept them!” the girl exclaims with sincere joy.

“Of course,” the guy smiles proudly. “This is our family treasure,” he starts to open the bottle.

“But we wanted to open it in a year,” Sara remembers with surprise.

“On a day like this, you want the celebration to never end. We’ll buy another one later,” Sean opens the special wine with a smile. The girl doesn’t argue, since another chance might not present itself. “And today isn’t just a housewarming.”

“What else are we celebrating?” the girl asks in surprise, holding out the two small glasses. She sits next to the guy on the soft bed.

“The start of our new life in a new place coincides with the date of our first month together,” Sean carefully pours the wine into the glasses.

“You were counting,” Sara is pleasantly surprised, having lost track of time in the torrent of events.

“Every day of ours is precious,” they drink arm in arm with smiles. “It’s a shame there’s no one to take a picture of us like this,” they notice how funny they look from the side and start laughing together. Two drops of wine splash onto the white sheet. The burgundy stain expands before their eyes.

“Look how much it resembles our heart in the gazebo,” Sara notes. The wine stain takes on familiar contours.

“We’ll leave our mark everywhere,” Sean decides with a smile. “And it tastes the same,” he assesses the special wine, comparing it to his first impressions.

“And to me, it tastes even better,” the girl boasts with a contented smile. They lie down to rest after a heavy and fun day. They enjoy the wine’s bouquet in bed.

“I know how to enhance the taste of pleasure even more,” Sean sets the glasses by the bed, embraces Sara, and passionately kisses her. The constant fear of being found keeps them from fully relaxing. Now, the pent-up tenderness and desire find an outlet. The sensations become even stronger and deeper than they were on the yacht. Right now, the young people are practically husband and wife, not only for the neighbors but for each other, too. That’s exactly how they feel. The passionate intimacy that they longed for but lacked the strength and time for makes the evening perfect.

“If our dreams are this pleasant, I’m going to sleep all day,” the girl feels herself at the peak of happiness and bliss.

“I’ll come to you in your dreams, and we’ll continue our celebration,” Sean playfully kisses Sara on the lips and neck.

“Then it’s not goodbye,” the young couple laughs together and happily falls asleep, wrapped in the warmth of their embrace.

“Is it dawn already?” a surprised Sara wakes up from the beams of light shining directly into her eyes. The crystal ball glows with a restless orange light. The girl understands that something is about to happen. She listens intently. She doesn’t hear any sirens in the area. “Sean, please wake up,” she gently rouses the man.

“What happened?” Sean wakes up immediately, as if he hadn’t been sleeping but was waiting anxiously, knowing that anything could happen.

“Nothing has happened yet,” the agitated girl reassures him slightly. “Just don’t laugh. Josie gave me a crystal ball and said it would help. And right now, this ball is telling me we’re in danger.”

“To be honest, I'm not laughing at all,” the man seriously admits. “And a warning like that is hard to miss,” he observes the bright orange rays wandering across the room. “We need to go.” They get up together and get dressed.

“Where are you going?” Sara asks worriedly.

“I’ll grab the bag. I’ll be right back. Be ready,” Sean goes for the bag of money.

“All right,” the girl whispers, looking around the room. Sara doesn’t pack her things. The fear is stronger than the desire to retrieve the suitcase from the past.

“Let’s go,” the man quickly returns. They head toward the pickup. “Quiet,” they try not to run to make less noise. He puts the bag in the trunk. He helps Sara get into the truck. The engine starts too late. A black SUV blocks their exit. Under the barrels of two pistols, the couple steps out of the car. They have been found by the same bandits who killed Sean’s accomplices and almost killed him.

“Found you,” one of the men in black jackets rejoices at their luck. “I admit, we had to look for you. Good job, kid, you took a useful trip to town for groceries. You were a big help.”

“I'm sorry, Sara,” Sean whispers, embracing his wife. “I didn’t think.”

“It’s not your fault, they would've found us anyway,” the girl soothes him with a slight smile.

“Don’t comfort him!” the second man shouts. “He’s to blame for everything. He ruined your lives. If your boyfriend hadn’t thought he was the cleverest and hadn’t taken our money, we wouldn’t have had to track you down. You would've been living quietly and happily.”

“Don’t listen,” Sara whispers. “You did what you thought was right.”

“How sweet,” the first man sneers sarcastically.

“I’ll scratch your eyes out myself!” Sara lunges at him. Sean holds her back.

“That’s enough!” the second one loudly intervenes. “Give us the money. Maybe we’ll let you go.”

“Maybe,” the first man quietly repeats. It becomes clear to the couple that they won’t be let go alive.

“Be ready,” Sean whispers so the two can’t hear. Sara nods. The man takes the bag from the trunk. “Catch!”

Sean throws the heavy money bag at one of the bandits. Sara throws the ball at the other. An unfamiliar crackling sound rings out. Sean grabs a tire iron from the trunk and lunges at the one who caught the bag. They wrestle on the ground, trying to kill each other. A shot, then another. Sean does not stop resisting. Sara slowly approaches the second man’s motionless body. She picks up the bloody crystal ball. The moon is large enough and gives off a lot of light to see the fractured skull. The girl killed him with the ball. She was defending their family. The ball, just as Josie had promised, helped greatly.

Once certain that the man with the fractured head is no longer a threat, Sara runs toward the struggling men. She picks up the tire iron that flew out of Sean’s hand and passes it to him. She doesn’t dare strike herself, so as not to accidentally hit her dearest. Another loud shot pierces the night. Sean’s tire iron immediately finds its purpose. The second pursuer is eliminated. The man stands up, throwing the life-saving piece of metal onto the ground. He runs up to the girl, who stands looking at him with a weary smile, holding her stomach with one hand.

“We won,” Sara whispers heavily. The bloody crystal ball falls from her hand.

“Yes, we won,” Sean pulls her hand away from her stomach, revealing a dark stain. The last shot hit Sara in the abdomen. The man’s blood runs cold in his veins. He looks in horror. He lifts her into his arms, carefully placing her in the car. The girl’s tired eyes close.

“What happened?” a neighbor, awakened by the gunshots in the night, runs over.

“I need your help,” a bewildered Sean stares intensely into the neighbor’s eyes.

“Of course, you can count on me,” the determined man is ready to fight.

“Where should I take Sara?” Sean anxiously asks for advice.

“What’s wrong with her?” the neighbor peers at the bloody spot on the girl’s T-shirt.

“I think a bullet hit her stomach. I'm sure of it,” Sean adds with dread.

“That’s bad, but there’s one option,” the neighbor ponders. “And we need to hurry.”

“An ambulance?” the man voices the first thing he thought of.

“No!” the man replies seriously. “We’ll grow old and die waiting for them to get here.”

“What should I do? She’ll die like this,” Sean panics a little.

“She won’t die,” the neighbor assures him calmly. “Take your wife to Berta. You know where her house is?”

“I know. And will Berta help?” the man looks at him hopefully.

“She will if you hurry. She’s pulled people back from the grave in worse cases than this. She has a real talent for these things.”

“And we need to get rid of them,” Sean points with a bloodied hand at the two people in dark clothes lying on the ground.

“We’ll get rid of them. I know a secluded spot a couple of miles from here. Take Sara to Berta and come back in the car. I’ll deal with things here for now,” the man sets about helping with the pressing issues.

“I’ll be back soon,” the man gets into the car. He races to the other side of the village to Berta’s house.

Sean drives fast. Without warning, he carries the wounded Sara in his arms. The old door is open. Berta meets them, ready to help, as if she sensed they were coming. They lay the girl on the bed. The woman looks at Sean, asking him to leave. She is assisted by her young daughter, who has a serious, adult gaze and confidence in her soul.

Sean gets back into the truck. His gaze freezes for a few seconds on the bloodstain where Sara lay. He hurries to his own house. Meanwhile, the neighbor loads the bodies into the bandits’ black SUV and throws the crowbar on top of them. Sean spots the bloody crystal ball. Having no better idea, he wipes it with his shirt and tosses it onto the roof of the house. The ball rolls down the shingles and gets caught on the cornice.

“Did you find Berta’s house?” Samuel asks with concern.

“Yeah,” the guy answers, a little bewildered. “She seemed to know about my coming visit,” he recalls the healer’s open door and calm tone.

“Don’t be surprised, kid,” the seasoned neighbor grins easily. “Berta always knows everything, somehow. And we don’t need to know, we need to do,” he urges with a nod.

“Let’s go. No time to discuss Berta’s abilities,” the guy returns to his justified haste.

The neighbor gets behind the wheel of the vehicle with the unwelcome guests. Sean gets into his pickup. The black SUV speeds away from the village. The guy races after it. They drive for about fifteen minutes on a dirt road. At the end of a distant vineyard, they turn onto the asphalt. They move farther away from the site of the struggle for life until the black bull runs out of gas.

“They’re heavy,” Sean says, helping position the bandits in the front seats.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how you dealt with them,” Samuel admits, genuinely surprised.

“When there’s no way out, there’s no time to overthink; you just have to deal with any situation,” the guy grows wiser right before his neighbor’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Samuel smiles, feeling proud of Sean. “Don’t forget about safety.”

“Safety first,” the guy buckles the bandits with seatbelts so they don’t fall out. He wipes the crowbar with the dead man’s clothing and tosses it into the trunk, as if that’s where it belongs. He removes the shirt that has blood from the crystal ball on it and throws it onto the back seat. He turns the steering wheel. He ponders.

“What’s wrong?” the neighbor notices the guy’s hesitation.

“We need a lack of safety, actually,” Sean unbuckles the belts and throws the men against the side pillars. “How else can we explain the fractured skulls? If they had been buckled up, they might have survived. Or maybe not,” they push the car into the ditch near the road.

“Well, what a quick-witted guy,” Samuel never stops being amazed. “How conveniently that worked out,” he pulls a hose and a small canister—which he sold along with the truck—from the pickup. He siphons the gas. The canister fills up. He douses the SUV. “Ready?” the accomplices look at each other, standing by the pickup.

“Go ahead,” Sean nods decisively. The neighbor sharply and deliberately strikes a match against the box. He ignites all the matches. He holds the flaming sulfur on the wooden stick up to the black SUV. A bright, vivid flame flares up, spreading over the entire vehicle. It penetrates the interior, greedily engulfing the bodies of the enemies of Sara and Sean’s family happiness with destructive heat.

“Any last words?” Samuel grins easily, quietly pleased that the bandits lost, not Sara and Sean.

“Not now,” the guy says more harshly. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll have to say unwelcome words of greeting and explanation,” he points out headlights on the road, and there’s more than one set.

“What awful timing,” Samuel shakes his head with displeasure.

Sean hastily puts on a T-shirt stained with white paint, which he threw into the trunk of the car the day he was working on the house. With their headlights off, they drive away from the burning SUV. The approaching headlights in the darkness belong to ordinary travelers.

“Where did they even come from?” the guy whispers, annoyed.

“Let’s see what they do,” the neighbor suggests. “Wouldn’t want them jumping into the fire to save the dead bandits,” the witnesses stop not far from the site of the staged accident. The travelers run up to the car but don’t climb inside, seeing that the passengers’ bodies are already burning. They can’t be saved. “We can go,” the accomplices confirm that the witnesses are not in any danger.

Sean slowly pulls away. And hurries back to the village as fast as the worn engine allows. A blast sounds behind him. The flames reflect in the rear-view mirrors. The young man pays no attention at all. He’s only slightly worried about accidental witnesses to the incident. Right now, all his thoughts are on Sara. He’s never been so worried for himself as he is for her. He blames himself for everything that happened. He regrets not taking the advice and not accepting the offer to drop everything and leave. The neighbor watches Sean torment his soul with heavy, corrosive thoughts. He understands the young man. Many years ago, he was in his shoes.

“Why are you helping me?” the young man asks, a little surprised.

“This village didn’t only give you refuge,” Samuel shares the truth so the young man knows that everyone faces difficult situations. “Many complicated people with complicated fates found shelter here. My wife and I came here for similar reasons once. The situation then was almost the same. Only, my lovely young wife, Riva, was helping me. I rushed to help you without a second thought because I know perfectly well how important help and support are in a situation like this. We lacked that back then,” he smiles sadly, remembering his tragic night. “The difference is that Sara will still survive, but Riva died that very day.”

“How did that happen?” Sean asks softly, sympathizing with his neighbor.

“I regretted it back then—I spared one of the attackers, left him alive, thinking he would realize everything, change, and help someone. But he coldly took Riva’s life. You should have seen how much anger and rage I had in me when I finished off my wife’s killer with the butt of a hunting rifle. More than ten years have passed, and that terrible day is still before my eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean says quietly.

“And I hope you never have to experience anything similar,” Samuel sincerely wishes.

They drive into the village. A breathless Sean rushes into Berta’s house. Sara lies unconscious. She’s breathing. He feels a wave of relief. He approaches quietly. He kneels by the bed and gently kisses her hand, not noticing the blood on her fingers. Tears glisten on his face. The fear of losing Sara tonight releases its grip. Berta steps out of the room, wiping her hands with a towel. Her daughter is cleaning up the remnants of the operation. The savior sits down on a chair, leaning against the table by the wall. There is no electricity in the house. A few large candles illuminate the room within a small perimeter.

“She’s going to be fine,” Berta assures him calmly, looking at Sara.

“Are you sure?” Sean asks, doubting the reality of his good fortune.

“Are you doubting me?” Berta smirks.

“I’m sorry, I’m just indescribably happy that she’s alright. I can’t believe she made it,” Sean explains.

“I understand. Why did you, young man, put the girl in the path of a bullet?” she asks with a gentle reproach, knowing he couldn’t have done it on purpose.

“I,” Sean stammers.

“I get it, son. Don’t try to justify it; things happen in life,” Berta says with an understanding look. Sean feels a little better. Sara’s savior shifts her gaze to Samuel. The man manages a sad smile.

“Tell me, can she move around?” Sean quietly hopes.

“I’ll be honest, it’s extremely dangerous. Internal bleeding could start at any moment, and then there’s practically no chance. It’s even more dangerous for you to stay here,” the woman is well aware of the situation.

“I think we have time. They won’t be looking for us for several hours,” the young man decides.

“You think right,” Samuel confirms his guess.

“While Sara rests, we need to come up with a plausible story for the disappearance,” Sean says, pondering seriously.

“The best story will be your death,” the accomplice immediately suggests.

“You think so?” the young man doesn’t want to abandon everything, but if they leave, he needs to make sure they’re left in the past for everyone here.

“I’m sure of it,” the neighbor firmly replies.

“Isn’t that too much? People will worry,” he’s developed a genuine affection for the local residents over the last few days.

“In matters like this, there’s no such thing as ‘too much,’“ Samuel knows this from personal experience.

“Fine. What kind of death should we invent?” Sean anticipates dark options.

“You don’t need to overthink it. A burned-out car on the roadside with two victims is an excellent story of your demise. I just need to tell the locals that you crashed. I’ll arrange a couple of headstones—everyone will believe it. I’d believe it myself if I saw the names on the stones.”

“I’d believe it too,” Sean muses. The very thought sends a chill down his spine.

“That’s what we’ll do. Now, go home and clean up all the signs of a struggle and the tracks of the second car. I’ll go prepare the news, then I’ll inform the people,” Samuel leaves Berta’s house.

Sean sits with the resting Sara for a little while. He finds the strength to leave his beloved for a short time. He drives to the house—new, but now former. He looks around. He cleans up the tracks he notices. With a rake, he smooths the ground to get rid of the deep ruts left by the heavy SUV. In the yard, it seems he clears everything.

He goes into the house. He washes the dishes. He puts everything away. He covers the furniture with white sheets, the way they do in old castles. This association arises against the backdrop of the battle and the fire on the road. The sheet with the burgundy wine stain remains on the bed. Now the sheet is the most valuable thing in the house. He collects Sara’s things. He has practically no belongings of his own. He takes a good look around one more time.

“Goodbye, our cozy friend,” he sighs heavily and leaves.

He loads the things into the pickup. He drives back to Berta’s house. On the way, he takes out the drawing from his pocket, which Sara drew specifically for him on the day they met. Looking at the little bird with wide-open wings, he wants to hug his wounded bird. She lies alone, without him. An interesting coincidence: a drop of blood fell onto the drawing and soaked in at the very spot where Sara was wounded. He folds the treasure and puts it back in his pocket. Lights begin to turn on in some of the windows. He needs to hurry. He goes into the house.

“You came,” Sara whispers through the pain, coming to.

“Of course, I came,” Sean smiles at the girl, adjusting the hair on her forehead with his fingers. It hurts him to watch his beloved suffer. The guy feels the pain the girl is experiencing.

“Time,” Samuel hurries them along.

“We need to go,” the guy whispers in a gentle voice.

“I’m ready,” Sara holds her breath and squeezes her eyes shut, anticipating intense pain.

“I’m sorry,” Sean lifts Sara into his arms.

“Hush, girl, hush. Just bear it a little longer,” Berta sees them out, steadying the girl to disturb the wound as little as possible.

“Just a little more,” Sean tries to position Sara more comfortably in the car. It’s a struggle. The girl uses all her strength to suppress her reaction to the intense pain so as not to distress Sean. The guy feels everything just by looking at her.

“That’s it,” Berta soothes with a smile, stroking Sara’s hand.

“Thank you so much for your help,” the guy thanks Berta wholeheartedly.

“I’m glad for the girl’s life,” the local healer smiles. “Be more careful. Next time might be the last,” the woman warns seriously.

“We’ll try,” Sean promises, setting his resolve. “And you take care of yourselves.”

“That’s what we do,” Sara’s savior smiles.

“And thank you so much too, Samuel. I wouldn’t have managed without you,” he shakes his accomplice’s hand firmly.

“I know,” the neighbor replies calmly. “The main thing is you managed. Don’t repeat mistakes like this. You were lucky to get off easy. You didn’t lose the most precious thing. Value her.”

“I’ll protect her with all my strength,” the guy declares decisively.

“That’s right. That’s the only way to be,” Samuel approves. “And protect your own life. Go now. People are starting to wake up.”

“Thank you for everything. Goodbye,” the guy gets into the pickup.

“And I wish you a happy and peaceful life. Find it, wherever it waits for you,” Samuel wishes them as they leave.

The young married couple, Sara and Sean Newbird, drive past the house that was briefly a new life for them. Hopes for a bright future remained inside it. Through pain and tears, Sara looks at the white facade and the broken flower garden. The tree reliably shields the house with its broad, dense branches. They can be easy about it. They abandon yet another life, setting off in search of a new attempt to settle in the world.

The couple survived by a miracle. And for the whole village, they have ascended to the heavens. Samuel, as he promised, placed a headstone in the local cemetery. One shared stone, not separate ones, as he first considered. True couples share a life, one for two, which means the end of their lives is also shared. He decorated the slab with nearly lifelike stone roses.

Sara and Sean quickly leave the fields strewn with flowers and the lush, green vineyards of France behind. They don’t yet know where they are going. They are absolutely sure of one thing: they have each other, and that is what matters. The farther they drive, the lighter their hearts feel. They may not have succeeded in living this new life, but another, perhaps several more bright lives, await them. If they have gone through such a grim situation, they are no longer afraid of anything. Together, Sara and Sean will definitely manage.

After they left, the house had many different visitors. The search for them didn’t stop. On the contrary, interest in the two individuals grew even greater. Money always attracts attention. Many tried to find traces of the vanished couple. The house saw many enemies and only one friend.

“Well, hello there,” Samuel always greets the lonely house with a constant smile on his face as he stops by for a visit. “Still no news, and that’s good. Silence is better than bad news. It’s a shame your friends left. Everyone liked them,” the neighbor smiles good-naturedly. “And you, Riva, you would have definitely liked them. A great couple,” he whispers, recalling Sara and Sean. “They had a rough night back then. And we had our share on our night,” images of the two terrifying nights come alive in his memory. “If we had all been together, all four of us, we would have definitely handled every problem. No one understands and supports you in tough times like someone who has experienced it personally. Now we would be living here happily ever after, two families side-by-side. Us and them. The best neighbors, Sara and Sean Newbird,” Samuel imagines the possible pure happiness with his dear Riva and the neighbors Sara and Sean, a sad smile on his face. “Wouldn’t that be great?” he asks his silent companion with a happy smile. The house feels everything and quietly creaks in response, showing understanding, support, and sympathy. The lonely house is sad and misses its friends, whom it won’t see again.

The glass ball slowly rolls along the cornice, disappearing into the drainpipe as if into a pocket on a billiard table. The perfectly formed crystal fires from the harmless cannon. Fortunately, this time, it strikes no one, hiding among the still-green grass and dried flowers on the lawn near the house.

The long-ago white paint on the heavily peeling boards greedily soaks up the last warm rays of the autumn sun. What looks like age-old dust, but is really no more than ten years old, has settled on the windows of the leaning house. Dry leaves slowly circle and settle on the roof. Twigs hit the moss-covered clay tiles and fall dully to the ground.

Comfort has nowhere to come from. All that remains are cold, empty walls, dusty windows, and old furniture draped in once-snow-white sheets, sagging under the weight of the passing years. Besides the decades-old layer of dust, one sheet bears the dry, heart-shaped, burgundy stain—all that remains of the owners. It’s not blood, but rather a symbol of fleeting happiness. The last occupants of the outwardly intact ruins were the married couple, Sara and Sean Newbird.

A new life, surname, house, city, and even country. Only their first names remained the same. The couple’s personalities also changed. They became tougher, more assertive, and more distrustful, but the warmth of their feelings and their tenderness for each other never faded. They are still the same Sara and Sean, guests of Solyè, a small southern town in France.

The loving couple, Sara and Sean Newbird, have vanished from the world. And only sometimes, the lemon-yellow, blood-red, sky-blue, and wine color ignite within the perfect crystal ball. Their bright colors gloomy tones.

 

© Bystrika, 2015