The morning was clear and gentle.
The fields around the village swayed under the wind, sprinkled with wildflowers. Mylova was returning from the small orchard with Louis, a basket filled with apples and figs in their hands. Vanessa skipped beside them, humming a nursery rhyme she had learned the day before.
> "We should make a pie," Louis said, glancing at the basket.
"With a bit of honey on top..." Mylova added.
As they crossed the main path, they passed a group of men talking near the village's north gate. One of them, an unfamiliar face, stood slightly apart from the others. He wore a long, dusty coat and observed the surroundings with an interest he didn't bother to hide.
> "Do you know him?" Mylova asked Louis in a low voice.
"No... maybe a traveler who stopped here."
The man greeted them politely, but his gaze seemed to follow them a bit too long. One of the villagers explained that he claimed to be selling fabric in the nearby town but wanted to "see for himself this village everyone talks about on the road."
They kept walking, yet Mylova couldn't help glancing back. The man was now speaking with an elderly resident, jotting down notes in a small notebook.
Later in the day, the central square filled with laughter. Children were putting on a small play, dressed in scarves and old hats, pretending to be kings, queens, and wandering merchants. Margaret, sitting on a wooden chair, encouraged the little actors with a warm, motherly smile.
> "Do you think that stranger will stay here long?" Louis asked as they stood near the edge of the crowd, watching the performance.
"I hope not..." Mylova replied without taking her eyes off the children.
She didn't know why exactly his presence unsettled her, but the feeling clung to her like a shadow. Her mind wandered briefly to the figure she had seen on the night of the lanterns... and to the old man they had crossed paths with at the floating market.
When the children's little play came to an end, applause rang out across the square, and everyone began moving toward the long table set in the center. Clay plates were neatly arranged, ready to be filled with the dishes prepared by each family.
Margaret placed a large, golden loaf of bread in the middle with pride.
> "I hope this one doesn't disappear in less than five minutes," she joked.
Louis brought over a jug of fresh sugarcane juice, while Mylova set down the apples and figs from that morning's harvest. Vanessa, full of energy, darted between the benches, helping to serve food with both hands.
The air was rich with the aroma of roasted corn, vegetable stew, and smoked meat. People chatted about the next harvest, the upcoming harvest festival, and the repairs to be done before the rainy season arrived.
> "Now this," Louis said as he sat beside Mylova, "is a true village meal."
They ate, laughing and sharing stories with their neighbors. The stranger was still there, seated a little further down the table. He had been invited by one of the villagers and listened intently, asking gentle questions - almost too many.
When the sun began to sink, the square slowly lit up with torches and oil lamps. Musicians took out their instruments, and the first couples began to dance.
Louis extended his hand to Mylova.
> "Come on."
"Right now? We've just eaten," she teased.
"That's the best time," he replied with a grin.
She laughed and let him lead her into the circle. The music rose, fast and joyful, and they spun together, their laughter carrying over the crowd. For a moment, the stranger and his curious gaze faded from her mind.
But deep down, somewhere at the back of her thoughts, she knew this peace - like the glow of the lanterns on the river - might not last forever.