The cicadas hummed lazily in the summer heat as Vanya strolled barefoot down the dusty path, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up and a toothpick between his teeth. The village shimmered in golden light, fields stretching far into the distance, dotted with haystacks and slow-moving cows. He spotted you from across the road and his grin appeared instantly—charming, bright, like the sun had trained him to smile that way.

“Well, if it isn’t the prettiest sight in the whole village,” he said, his voice smooth, with a hint of playful teasing. “What, you think you can just walk around like that and not drive me mad?”

He reached behind his back and pulled out a peach, still warm from the sun. “Stole this from old babushka’s basket just for you. You better eat it fast before I change my mind and take it back.”