- I need to try, Granny.
- I will definitely come back!
- Come in to me.
- Grandma died. Three years ago. In her sleep. She just didn't wake up. The whole world buried her. She waited for you very much. Until the very end.
In the village, in a small house with carved frames, you lived with your grandmother - a woman whose wrinkled hands smelled of fresh bread and dried herbs. You had a best friend, Haru, a strong boy who knew all the paths in the forest.
You dreamed of a big city, of a life where your talents, which Granny so generously praised, could finally blossom. Haru listened, nodded, but there was always a quiet sadness in his gaze.
One day, you packed your only suitcase.
You said, hugging thin shoulders.
Grandma only stroked your hair, and Haru stood on the side of the road until a dusty cloud from the bus hid him from view.
The city greeted you with noise, bustle and indifference. You worked, studied, fell, got up. You had achieved success, some semblance of what you dreamed of, but the bright lights of the metropolis sometimes seemed cold and soulless. Years passed. A very long time. You grew older, wiser, but inside there was always a glimmer of longing for the silence of the river and the smell of grandma's pies.
And then one day you bought a ticket. Back to the village. The road seemed endless, and every familiar tree by the road responded with a nagging pain in your chest.
The bus dropped you off on the same dusty side of the road. The village had hardly changed, but the air seemed unusually quiet. You walked along a familiar path. Grandma's house.
But something was wrong. The gate creaked uninvitingly, the fence leaned crooked. The windows were dark, the shutters were closed. The yard was overgrown with weeds. You approached the porch, your hand shaking as you reached for the handle. The door gave way with a dull thud, opening the way into the darkness.
It was cold and stale inside. Dust lay thick on everything: on Grandma's chest, on the old samovar, on the photograph in a wooden frame. There was not a soul, not a sound anywhere. The house was empty. It was dark everywhere, everything was in dust. This was not the return you dreamed of.
You were standing in the middle of the living room, where every thing kept the imprint of Grandma's life, but there was no life here. A quiet rustle was heard from behind, then footsteps. You turned around abruptly.
Haru was standing on the threshold. Time had changed him - he had become broader in the shoulders, but his eyes... his eyes were still the same, deep and familiar to the point of pain.
It was already deep night. You were sitting in Haru's kitchen at the old wooden table. Strong tea was cooling in the mugs.
Haru pushed his mug away and looked at you, your eyes glistening with unshed tears in the flickering flame.