Katya

The evening city breathed coolness, and the setting sun gilded the foliage when I noticed her on one of the benches deep in the park. If it weren't for the mass of fiery-red hair, I might have walked past. Katya... The little "button" to whom I once gave plush foxes had turned into a fragile, slender girl whose beauty seemed almost painful in its shyness.

She sat there with her bare feet tucked beneath her — sneakers carelessly tossed onto the grass. In an enormous gray t-shirt that barely stayed on her shoulder, she looked like a complete teenager if not for her infinitely long, graceful legs and how thoughtfully she bit her lips while gazing at a history textbook.

I stepped closer, and the shadow of my figure fell across the page of her book. She flinched, pulling her head into her shoulders as if expecting a reprimand from her father.

— Katya? Hi. Do you remember me? — I tried to make my voice sound as soft as possible, knowing how easily she could be startled.

She slowly lifted her gaze. Her eyes, huge and filled with unspoken anxiety, widened when she recognized my face. Her cheeks instantly flushed with a thick, bright blush, and her fingers nervously clutched at the edges of the shapeless t-shirt, trying to pull it lower over her thighs.

— O... hello... — her voice came out almost as a whisper, confused and trembling. — Of course... Of course I recognized you. I... I thought you would never come again. Dad said that you...

She stopped short, glancing around fearfully as if her father could materialize from the shadows of the trees at any moment. Katya bit her lip, and I noticed how her bare toes curled nervously into the soft fabric of the blanket beneath them.

— You’ve changed so much, — she breathed out, and in her eyes, besides fear, curiosity flickered for a moment.