They say that when you meet your person, you just know. Time freezes. The world fades—the light, the sounds, the people—and all that remains is them.
But when I first saw Lisa, everything around her mattered more. I noticed every detail: the tall glass in front of her, the way the ice cubes clinked and cracked as they melted. It was as if the universe had decided to orbit around her—and I was only too happy to be caught in its pull.
From that day on, not much has changed. I put Lisa on a pedestal, and every success became an offering—something to lay at her feet just to see her smile. But what could I possibly give to a girl born into wealth, who already had everything others could only dream of?
The longer we were together, the more I saw how lonely she truly was. She rarely spoke about friends or family. She only left home for public events; the rest of her time she buried herself in books—writing her own, reading others'.
So I moved forward for her. I tried to build a home that radiated warmth and care—a kind of comfort she'd never known behind her walls of privilege. But even that wasn't enough anymore. Something in Lisa had broken after that event—the one where she came home claiming she'd been splashed with "paint." And then came the funeral…
That's how we ended up here—tucked away in a glamping park, surrounded by untouched forest and silence. I'd hoped a change of scenery would help her breathe again, peel away the layers of armor she'd been building, and let someone—me—close once more.
I glanced at my phone. Noon. Time to pick her up from the library.
When Lisa was absorbed in her work, she could forget everything—hunger, fatigue, the world itself. She treated meal breaks as myths invented by idle people.
I threw on a clean white T-shirt, left my plaid shirt unbuttoned, and rolled the sleeves to my elbows. One last glance in the mirror—hands through my hair, a quick tousle—and I stepped outside.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the branches. From afar came the rhythmic hum of cicadas. The air smelled of pine and blooming oleander, which grew in pale clusters outside every cabin.
The place was peaceful—almost too peaceful. Not a soul in sight. I couldn't help wondering what the other guests were doing. Surely they weren't all cooped up indoors? It felt strange, walking down that quiet road, like the park was holding its breath.
I'd rented the very last free cabin for our stay.
A glamping park should have been bursting with life.
But here—nothing.
A shadow swept overhead, and I froze.
Was that… a frisbee?
Before I had time to turn, something slammed into the backs of my knees. The ground vanished from under me, and I went down hard on my back. Dazed, I blinked up at slivers of blue sky peeking through the branches above and wondered, what the hell just happened?
"Zar! Come here!" someone shouted.
A moment later, a slobbering muzzle loomed into view—a scruffy dog, husky-like, panting so hard that his pink tongue trembled with every exhale, flinging droplets into my face. His eyes, startlingly human in their expressiveness, studied me with almost comical concern. Then his ears perked, and he leaned closer, sniffing intently.
"Zar, no!" a young man called out as he jogged up to us. He grabbed the thick collar around the dog's neck and tugged him back toward his legs. "Sorry, man, didn't see you there."
I propped myself up on my elbows, wincing as a small stone dug into my lower back. How far do you have to throw a frisbee to miss the only human being on this empty road?
"Your dog's huge," I said once I got to my feet. Up close, the creature looked even more massive. When a dog's face is in yours, they all seem enormous—but this one really was. His shoulders reached nearly to his owner's hip, and the guy was about my height.
"He's not mine—he belongs to my girlfriend," the man said with an apologetic smile, waving a hand as if to excuse the whole incident. "I'm Ildar, and this," he nodded toward the dog, "is Svetozar."
"Did the hostess also give you that look when she found out you're not a married couple either?" I asked, brushing dust from my jeans.
Ildar laughed warmly. "I thought Elena just had it out for us." He patted the dog's side, and I finished shaking off the road dust.
"Guess that makes four of us in the same boat," I said.
Zar barked suddenly, and I jumped—the sound came out of nowhere, deep and booming.
"Five of us," Ildar corrected, ruffling the dog's head. Zar's ears flopped comically. "You heading to the main building?"
"That's right. You too?"
"Same way," he grinned, stooping to pick up the frisbee. "Wanna take a throw?"
I shrugged. "I'd better not—we might take down another innocent bystander." My back still ached from the fall. "Is it always this empty around here?"
"Pretty much," Ildar said, launching the frisbee high into the air. Zar bolted after it, muscles rippling under his thick fur. "Mostly older folks come here, or couples looking for peace and quiet. They stay in their cabins. Not many people come to socialize. Even though the hostess tries—every evening she hosts something: a dance night with live music—no one shows up—or some community gardening thing. You know, fun for people who always dreamed of having a little country house." He smirked. "Tonight there's supposed to be a gathering in the hall. My girlfriend and I were planning to check it out. They'll be telling local legends, apparently. It's marked as a private event, for some reason, but I'm sure they'll let us in. I mean, why advertise something if no one's allowed to come, right?"
"What kind of legends?"
"Who knows," Ildar said, shuffling his feet along the road. "There used to be some settlement around here, I think."
"I actually got lost yesterday trying to find the registration desk, and—"
"It's literally right across from the entrance," he interrupted, incredulous.
"I know, I know." I lifted my hands in surrender. "Didn't notice it somehow. It happens, right? Anyway, that's not the point. While I was wandering the first floor looking for Elena, I came across this long hallway with old photographs under glass. You know—the black-and-white ones where everyone looks deadly serious?"
"From the days when people thought smiling would ruin the picture?"
"Exactly. I didn't get to study them properly, but if you want, we can go find them together later. I was planning to go back anyway—to take photos, document them for an archive."
"Archive?" Ildar echoed, curious.
I nodded. "I run an online project. I digitize old photos, trace family trees, and collect stories from vanished villages and forgotten towns. Basically, I try to preserve the pieces of memory no one else remembers to keep."
"Do you make any money off it?"
"Oh, no," I smiled. "You could call it a hobby."
"Wouldn't have guessed," Ildar said with a laugh, gesturing at me from head to toe. "You look more like the outdoorsy type. Bikes, surfboards, that kind of thing."
I glanced down at my clothes, puzzled as to what made Ildar think that.
I was wearing the most ordinary outfit imaginable: sneakers, a pale T-shirt, and a checkered shirt. No prints, no flashy logos, no bright colors—nothing, absolutely nothing that could have suggested what he'd just said.