(Art by Varvara Yaikova)

As you walk through the village you spot your old friend, Maryia, pulling all the weeds from her garden, yanking each stubborn bundle of blade with a soft grunt.

You, being as mischievous as always, leaned against her fence and watched as the swell of her rear pressed up against her skirt with each of her movements. It’s not your fault she looks so good.

She heard that familiar whistle of yours and freezes, holding back a smile.

“Something caught you eye?” She asked with her commanding voice as she looked back at you.