The sun was slowly setting behind the hills, and the village was gradually lighting up with small flames hung in front of each house. The air was mild, scented both with the flowers from the gardens and the sweet aroma escaping from the pots simmering over the fire.
In the central square, long tables had been set up. The embroidered tablecloths, adorned with colorful patterns, seemed to tell the story of the village. Children ran between the benches, paper lanterns in hand, eager to take part in the evening's ceremony.
Mylova and Louis arrived with their arms full: a basket of fresh fruit, a dish of grilled vegetables, and a few still-warm galettes.
"You know," Louis said, "I think this might be my favorite celebration."
"Why?"
"Because it's the only night when everyone gathers—without exception."
Laughter and conversation filled the air. A small group of musicians began to play a lively tune, blending drums, guitar, and flutes. Women served the dishes, exchanging news with those they hadn't seen in a long time.
Margaret, seated with a group of friends, was still knitting a few more rows while chatting. She smiled more than usual, and her hands seemed to work almost on their own, as if they knew the wool by heart.
Later in the evening came the moment everyone had been waiting for: the lantern procession. Each family lit their own lantern, and the villagers began to walk toward the river in respectful silence. The lanterns, set gently upon the water, began to drift away, lighting the surface like an upside-down sky.
Mylova stood still for a moment, watching the light flicker with the gentle movement of the waves.
"It's as if they're carrying our dreams," she murmured.
"And our secrets," Louis replied with a smile.
But as everyone admired the lights, Mylova noticed, on the other side of the river, a still silhouette. Too far away to see its features, yet close enough to feel it was watching. When she blinked, the silhouette was gone.
She frowned slightly but quickly composed herself, brushing off the strange feeling. After all, it was probably just a curious onlooker keeping their distance.
The music resumed, and soon laughter drowned out the murmur of the water. Yet deep inside, Mylova kept that image: a silent shadow, standing just beyond the lantern light.
After the lantern ceremony, the music swelled once more in the central square. The drums set a lively rhythm, joined by the soft, fluttering notes of wooden flutes. Children danced in circles, their small figures glowing in the warm torchlight. Their shadows leapt and swirled across the ground, as if dancing along with them.
Margaret, sitting on a wooden bench near the musicians, had set her knitting aside to enjoy the scene. She laughed out loud when the youngest children began challenging each other to dance-offs, each one trying to outdo the last with exaggerated spins and funny steps.
Along the edge of the square, long tables had been prepared for the communal feast. Dishes from every family filled the space—steaming bowls of spicy stew, baskets of fresh bread, platters of roasted vegetables, and pies fragrant with cinnamon and brown sugar. The air was thick with mouthwatering scents: the smoky sweetness of grilled corn, the warm spice of pepper sauce, and the buttery richness of pastries cooling under the night air.
Louis returned from the buffet with two plates piled high.
— "Roast chicken, sweet potatoes, and… pecan pie," he announced proudly, placing one plate in front of Mylova.
They ate slowly, savoring each bite, while chatting with the neighbors seated beside them. A group of older men traded stories about past festivals, laughing at small mishaps and fondly remembering the faces of those who were no longer there. One man leaned in and shared a tale about how, many years ago, a lantern had drifted so far downstream that it was found by a neighboring village, who took it as a sign of great luck for the year to come.
The music softened as the night grew deeper. People began to gather near the main fire in the square, sitting close together as the flames painted their faces in shades of gold and amber. Some hummed along to the slower songs; others simply closed their eyes, letting the rhythm sink into them.
Mylova leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting upward to the wide sky scattered with countless stars. A sense of calm washed over her, deep and quiet, like a blanket drawn over the soul. For a moment, she let herself believe that nothing could disturb this peace.
And yet… her mind returned to that figure she had seen across the river. The image clung to her thoughts like a stubborn shadow. She told herself it had been nothing—a trick of the light, perhaps, or a stranger with no ill intent. But in her heart, a small knot of unease remained, tightening whenever she recalled the way it had stood so still.
As the celebration slowly wound down, families began clearing the tables and dousing the torches one by one. The night air grew cooler, and the river, now calm, still carried a few lanterns far into the distance. They floated like lost stars, their faint glow trembling on the dark water.
Mylova and Louis were stacking benches near the edge of the square when Vanessa came running back, her cheeks flushed from excitement and her braids bouncing with each step. In her small hands, she held a delicate basket filled with freshly picked flowers.
— "Look what someone gave me!" she exclaimed, holding it out for Mylova to see.
The basket was finely woven, the strands of straw tight and even, decorated with ribbons of deep red and shimmering gold. The flowers inside—white lilies and soft pink blossoms—give off a gentle, sweet fragrance.
— "It's beautiful," Mylova murmured, brushing her fingers lightly over the petals. "Who gave this to you?"
Vanessa tilted her head as if trying to remember.
— "A man… I don't remember his name. He had a gentle voice, and he told me to keep it safe."
Louis glanced at Mylova, his brows slightly furrowed.
— "Do you remember what he was wearing?"
— "A brown coat and a big hat," Vanessa replied without hesitation, already distracted by a group of friends calling her from across the square. She waved before darting off to join them, the basket swinging at her side.
Mylova froze. That description… it was almost identical to the figure she had seen on the far bank of the river.
She said nothing, forcing a small smile so as not to alarm Louis. The music in the distance softened to a hum, the smell of roasted food lingering faintly in the air. Together, they walked back toward their home, their steps slow and tired after the long evening.
Yet as they crossed the small path by the water, Mylova's eyes drifted once more to the opposite shore. The darkness was heavy there, broken only by the faint shimmer of the last drifting lanterns. And though she could see nothing, a strange, unshakable feeling whispered in her chest—
—somewhere out there, in the quiet shadows by the riverbank, a pair of eyes might still be watching.