Chapter 1
2015
That January was harsher than anyone could remember.
It was as if the village had deliberately cut itself off from the rest of the world. Snow buried the roads day after day, the wind lashed at anyone reckless enough to step outside, and the bitter cold drove people indoors, where they could shut their doors, settle beside a crackling stove or fireplace, and wait for the storm to wear itself out beyond their windows.
Yet what made that winter truly unbearable wasn't the weather.
It was the quiet feeling that something was about to end.
Virsavia had never belonged here.
She was a breathtaking girl from Moscow, the daughter of the influential businessman Dmitry Uspensky. She had grown up surrounded by skyscrapers, luxury cars, and a life most people could only dream of. In this forgotten village, she had always looked like someone who had wandered into the wrong story.
People remembered her not because of her last name, but because she was impossible to forget.
She had inherited her mother's warm olive complexion and sharp, elegant features, carrying faint traces of the Arab ancestry woven into her family's history. From her father she had inherited stubbornness—and the ability to stand tall even when every part of her wanted to break apart. But more than anything else, people remembered her eyes: an astonishing shade of blue-gray that seemed to bring perfect balance to every delicate feature of her face.
Vira only came here for a few weeks each year to spend the holidays with her grandmother.
She had always known it was temporary.
Soon enough, she would return to Moscow—to school, to her parents, and to the endless plans they had already made for her future.
Only this time, everything was different.
In just a few days, her life would change forever.
The Uspenskys were moving to Dubai.
A foreign country. New people. Endless sunshine instead of snow. A world of unimaginable luxury.
Her parents insisted that an extraordinary future was waiting for her there.
But for weeks, her thoughts had belonged to someone else.
Demyan.
A reckless troublemaker. Dangerous. Primitive.
That was how her mother described him.
Six months earlier, Virsavia had staged the biggest act of rebellion of her life against her parents' cold, carefully controlled world. She had locked herself inside her bedroom and refused to come out unless absolutely necessary for nearly an entire month.
Now he was sitting beside her in her late grandfather's garage.
He had died three years ago, but the garage had become their sanctuary.
Every evening they met there in secret while their families remained convinced that their sweet, well-behaved girl was spending time with respectable classmates—the kind any strict grandmother would gladly approve of.
Over the years, the place had slowly come alive.
String lights glowed warmly beneath the ceiling. An old sofa had been replaced with a comfortable one covered by a soft blanket. A small refrigerator stood against the wall, and someone had even managed to squeeze in a television.
The forgotten garage had found a second life.
Soon, though, it would become nothing more than another dusty storage room that no one would ever think about again.
Without a word, Virsavia slipped out of Demyan's embrace and sat on the edge of the couch.
For several seconds she stared at the colored lights shimmering lazily overhead.
Then she stood.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer.
He watched her walk over to an old shelf, take down a small picture frame holding one of their photographs, and carefully place it inside a cardboard box she had prepared earlier.
The string lights followed.
Then their mugs.
A small speaker.
One by one, she packed away the little things they had bought together with their pocket money.
"Please... don't," Demyan said softly, rising from the couch.
"I don't want Grandma to have to clear everything away by herself."
He crossed the room until only a single step separated them.
He was taller than she was now, broader too, yet he was still only seventeen—a boy who had only recently discovered what it meant to love someone with every piece of his heart.
"Please don't do this," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
The sweet scent of her hair filled his lungs, soft and floral, making it almost impossible to breathe.
"I'll die without you."
"Demyan..." she murmured, her voice full of quiet reproach.
He could feel invisible walls rising between them, pushing them toward opposite sides of life.
And that distance was killing him.
Vira was everything he had.
The only person for whom he would have given absolutely anything.
Yet fate had turned its back on him once again, taking away the one person he couldn't imagine living without.
His hands found her shoulders before gently cupping her face, desperate to make her see everything he could never put into words.
Tears shimmered at the corners of his dark eyes.
"You can't let your parents decide your life!" he burst out.
His fingers slipped into her dark hair, holding it carefully, almost desperately, as if he could preserve her warmth in his hands.
"I know I'm not rich. I know I'm not powerful. But I have myself—and that's enough. I'll work anywhere. Day and night if I have to. I'll take any job. I'll build us a home. Maybe not right away. Maybe it'll be small. But it'll be ours. I'll do everything I can to make sure you never regret choosing me."
Vira let out a trembling sob and slowly shook her head.
"Demyan..."
"I need you to listen to me," he begged, pressing his forehead against hers. "I don't need the whole world. I only need you. And if you stay, I swear that one day you'll look at the life we've built together and say that it was worth it."
"How am I supposed to stay, Demyan?" she whispered hopelessly, fighting back her own tears. "My parents..."
"To hell with your parents!" he interrupted sharply. "There's only you and me!"
"What are you suggesting?"
"We meet here tonight," he said quickly. "Some people I know can get fake documents. It will take time, but I'll hide you. I'll keep you safe."
"You..." She stumbled over the words, staring at him as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you insane? I can't do that."
"You can, my love," Demyan whispered gently, leaving a soft kiss on the sharp line of her chin. "You're strong. You're brave."
"I'm not..." Vira replied quietly, meeting his intense gaze.
"Do it for us, Vira. I'll be waiting for you."
His lips lingered against her skin one last time before he turned away and left.
The door creaked softly as it closed behind him, and a heavy silence settled over the garage.
She returned home an hour later.
Dinner had already gone cold on the table, and some melodrama played quietly on the television, occasionally interrupted by her grandmother's heavy sighs.
Vira left the box by the wall and entered the living room.
She sat down on the soft couch as if she were making the most important decision of her entire life.
Her grandmother's gaze lingered on the cardboard box.
It was as though the older woman understood exactly what kind of storm her granddaughter was going through.
After a moment, she sat down beside her.
"Your grandfather was like that too," her grandmother said casually. "Poor as a church mouse, but with a heart full of fire."
"Why did you choose him?"
The woman smiled faintly, remembering her own youth and the kind of love that appears without asking permission.
"Because I loved him."
"And you never regretted..." Vira hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "Going against your family?"
Her grandmother was silent for a long time before finally answering.
"Sometimes we had nothing to eat," she admitted, without giving a direct answer. "Sometimes we fought so badly that I wanted to pack my things and leave. Sometimes I thought my parents had been right all along."
She paused.
"But do you know what the difference is?"
"What?"
"I never regretted choosing him."
Silence filled the room.
"Poverty passes, Vira. Youth passes. Even pain becomes less sharp with time. But regret..." Her grandmother looked ahead thoughtfully. "Regret knows how to stay inside a person until the very end."
Vira lowered her gaze to her intertwined fingers, twisting them nervously.
"Dad says love can't be more important than the future."
"Your father is a good man, Vira," her grandmother replied calmly. "But he spent his whole life building a future, while I spent mine building a family. Everyone has different values."
"He will never accept Demyan. He thinks Demyan will drag me down."
"And what do you think?"
The girl didn't answer immediately.
Demyan's face appeared in her mind.
His hands.
His trembling voice.
His desperate plea.
"I think..." she whispered almost silently. "I think that when I'm with him, I feel happy."
Her grandmother's hand gently covered her tightly clasped fingers.
"Then don't let anyone make your choices for you. Making a mistake of your own is not as frightening as spending your entire life living someone else's decision."
Vira silently nodded and wrapped her arms around the woman.
Until that conversation, she had been certain that her grandmother, just like her parents, was against her relationship with such a rebellious boy.
But today, she discovered a completely different truth.
And it was this conversation that helped her make her choice.
She didn't touch her dinner.
Instead, she disappeared into her room, took her phone, and opened the messenger.
She found his contact and typed that she would come.
Then she plugged her phone into the charger and quietly packed her things.
Everything fit into a single backpack: a couple of sweaters, a few pairs of pants, underwear, her documents (even though Demyan had said he could get fake ones), and several other essentials—medicine, money, and small things she couldn't leave behind.
Tonight her life would be divided into two parts: before and after.
She waited silently for the moment that would change two lives forever in a single night.
