As soon as the kiss ended, Karimov wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. My height only allowed me to rest my cheek against his chest. I wished, just for a moment, that I could hear his heartbeat through the fabric of his jacket.
"Is it too late to ask about the dance?" His voice carried its familiar playful lilt.
"Too late, alas," I replied, matching his tone. "I'm going with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend? Just like that?"
"Why complicate things when it's all perfectly clear now?"
In response, Nik pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. Words were unnecessary; we both understood that.
Remembering why we had come, we made our way back to the car. Nik checked the navigator and concluded that we would have to continue on foot. We tucked our backpacks under the seat, hiding them from view, and stepped into the forest, following the narrow trail that led to the old estate. Between the trees, the soil was carpeted with tetraphis moss, soft and springy underfoot. Here and there, ferns spread their leaves, twisting and tangling as though trying to hold us back, warning us of the secrets the grand mansion concealed. Their stubborn leaves clutched at our pants, but I kept pace with Nikita, who led confidently, never hesitating even at the forked paths.
"Have you been here before?" I asked.
Nikita nodded. "My father worked at the sawmill. When I was a child, my mother would bring me here often, so I know the area as well as I know the city."
"It must get tiring, wandering the same places over and over."
"Not really." Nik pushed aside a spruce branch, holding it back for me to pass. "Seeing the same place repeatedly lets you notice how it changes. The older Kserton gets, the more it grows. Especially after they built the new road."
"I think you mentioned that before."
"I'm still surprised we didn't meet earlier. You came to visit your father, right?"
I nodded, though he likely couldn't see it from behind. Realizing this, I hurriedly added, "Actually, I stopped coming a few years ago. My mother used to send me to my father for the summer, but I quickly got bored. Kostya didn't have many friends here, and maybe that's why. People were more intimidated by my father than the other way around. I rarely saw anyone my age, so summer in Kserton inevitably became a synonym for loneliness and boredom. Eventually, my father and I agreed to vacation elsewhere."
"Have you seen a lot?"
I drifted into memory, remembering past trips. Mostly, my father took me somewhere warm. Transfers through Moscow were inevitable, whether we were heading to Turkey or Egypt, but I never felt entirely comfortable—locals' attitudes and the ubiquitous litter often spoiled the picture. Why couldn't people carry their trash with them? The sight saddened me, contrasting with the natural beauty around us. Turkey was lush and colorful, Egypt memorable for underwater corals and endless deserts dotted with clay-brick buildings, standing like sentinels against time. Their exact material often escaped me, and I never checked online.
Images of the Kurtatinsky gorge and the small necropolis of Dargavs in the Caucasus also surfaced, ninety-five family graves packed tightly together. I would never forget the guide's story: in Dargavs, the dead were not buried in the ground but placed in small crypts with their possessions. During the cholera outbreak in the 18th century, many sought death in these crypts, leaving bones stacked in niches meant for treasured belongings. The climate mummified the bodies, lending the site a ghastly aura. Even Egypt's tombs never sent a shiver down my spine quite like Dargavs.
"Yeah, you know," I began aloud, "we managed to visit the Caucasus, Egypt, parts of Turkey, and Cyprus."
Nikita whistled softly. "Wow. That's quite a list. Besides Kserton, I haven't really been anywhere—Novosibirsk and Yekaterinburg, maybe. My father sometimes takes me on trips for work or just to wander. I guess he gets bored traveling alone. My mother rarely leaves the house unless she needs to shop."
The forest thinned, and a clearing appeared ahead.
"And which place did you like best?"
Though the Caucasus had intrigued me most, I avoided recounting graveyards and mummified remains. Instead, I recalled the ten days in Cyprus with Kostya.
"Cyprus. I loved the pebble beaches, the clear water, the tall palms. You should have seen them!"
"Maybe one day I will." Nik's voice softened. "I never seriously thought about leaving here. And I don't think anything good would come of it."
I was taken aback.
"But traveling is temporary! Why not see the world, experience how other people live? It's so fascinating!"
"Maybe for others. Not for me. You've heard the saying: when we leave, someone else comes back home instead of us, right?"
"Are you afraid of change?"
Nik sighed and stopped walking. He turned to me, our fingers intertwining. After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"I'm more afraid I won't like the person who comes back home instead of me."
His words struck me. I had never realized how thoughtful Nik could be, how much quiet wisdom underpinned his perspective. It was a depth I wanted to listen to, despite our lives seeming not so different. Perhaps, in time, I would understand him better.
"You won't know until you try," I said softly.
I had expected a clearing, but instead, we came upon a tall fence, its black metal bars arranged in a strict grid. The gaps between the lines were just wide enough to slip through, and beyond it lay the old estate, waiting silently.