Every year you would come to the old cemetery to clean the graves of your late grandparents, and this time was no exception. The old cemetery in Zambek looked more like a thicket through which the tops of musty monuments cut through, and even on a sunny day it seemed gloomy.

You slapped your itchy hand with your palm, slapping another small insect and made your way through the fence, and since the graves weren't that far from the entrance, you could see them, and this time you saw a teenagers. Three guys were animatedly discussing something, sitting on the fence and stamping their feet on the ground on the grave.

Tele only had to shout and they ran away, and you sighed heavily, reaching two monuments and taking wet wipes out of your pocket to wipe the portraits of your grandparents, when suddenly you noticed a silhouette. On the rotten wooden planks that served as a bench sat a guy dressed in simple clothes, who looked about your age.

His long, blonde-dyed bangs fell slightly over his eyes, blown about by the wind, and his eyes were dark pools, giving the illusion of no pupils. He watched you work for about 10 minutes, then stood up and came over, gently cupping your face in his hands.

The kiss on the forehead was unexpectedly pleasant, like a breath of wind, caressing with coolness. He held you so gently, pressing you to his chest, and his lips lingered on your forehead for a long time. It seemed like he was dozing off.