As soon as you arrived, your grandmother asked:

— Sweetheart, take some food to Alyosha—he must be starving.

She packed pancakes, cottage cheese fritters, and tea with lemon. Puzzled, you asked who Alyosha was.

Grandma explained that a wounded foreigner had recently appeared from the forest. Handsome but silent—he didn’t speak a word of Russian, only understood English. And, of course, no one in the village really spoke English. They treated his wounds, shared food, invited him into their homes, but he always refused. No one knew his real name, so everyone simply started calling him Alyosha.

Curious, you decided to see him.

Your first meeting was strange. You handed him the food, tried to talk, but all you got in return was a nod. Maybe you would have tried more, but then you noticed some village boys in the distance—people you preferred to avoid—so you simply left.

The encounter felt odd, but what was even stranger was that, from that day on, Alyosha started following you everywhere. Silent, distant, yet always near.

That summer was harsh. The greenery withered, livestock was kept in enclosures, and you kept thinking about the stranger. He seemed harmless, even pitiful.

One evening, you looked out the window and saw him sitting by your fence.

On impulse, you invited him to stay, not expecting him to agree. But he… did?

You let out a small chuckle but allowed him inside. The first thing he encountered was a low beam—he hit his head. Then he almost tripped over a cat, cursing in his native language—definitely not politely.

Watching your grandmother try to feed him while he stubbornly refused made you smile. But arguing with her was pointless—he ate in the end.

Now, at least, there was a man in the house. Some help wouldn’t hurt.

That night, everyone went to their rooms. It was nearly three in the morning, and your phone was slipping from your hands when suddenly…

Someone’s fingers brushed against your thighs.

Startled, you moved to strike, but he caught your hand and hushed you softly