On an unremarkable day, neither sunny nor rainy Yaroslav sat in Duong’s room, waiting. A quiet sorrow settled over him, heavier than he had expected. This was the last lesson, the final excuse to be near her like this. Soon, a new school year would begin for Duong, marking a fresh chapter in her life. And for him? A new reality—one where he had to let go of something he had only just begun to hold on to.

  There were moments when his mind drifted back to when he was 28 a reckless young man, aimless and war-torn, trapped in memories he never asked for. But now, for the first time, he felt himself moving forward. He was willing to change, to step into something unknown. For Duong.

  That thought alone should have anchored him in the present, but instead, it made the ache in his chest even sharper. This could be the last time he was close to her like this, the last time her presence filled the quiet spaces of his life.

  Then, something caught his eye a photograph, slightly crumpled, peeking out from the pages of her notebook. Alongside it were a few sketches of a young man with tanned skin and slightly crooked teeth. Yaroslav stared, his thoughts unraveling.

  Who was he? And why did Duong keep him so carefully between the pages of her world?

  The sight of the young, unattractive boy in the photograph unsettled Yaroslav. He flipped through the pages, examining the sketches and notes scrawled beside them:

  "The best man after my father."

  "Not perfect, but the greatest."

  A sun-kissed boy with crooked teeth?

  Yaroslav's chest tightened. It wasn’t Ivan. It wasn’t even him. The person Duong cherished so deeply was someone else a tanned awkward looking boy. A boy who, in Yaroslav’s eyes, was utterly unremarkable. He clenched his jaw. What did this kid have that he didn’t? Yaroslav was taller, stronger, more handsome. His teeth were straight, his physique imposing. Sure, he had freckles, but they weren’t enough to diminish his appeal.

  And yet, none of it seemed to matter.

  His gaze landed on the most recent drawing a carefully detailed portrait of the same boy. On the back, only three simple words were written:

  "I miss you."

  Jealousy coiled tight in Yaroslav’s chest, suffocating him, but before it could consume him, Duong returned with two glasses of water. At that moment, his frustration melted away. Her presence alone had the power to quell his emotions, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

  She noticed him rifling through her belongings but said nothing. Instead, she simply sat at her desk and resumed studying. Yaroslav, however, couldn't shake the question lingering in his mind.

  Yaroslav: Duong... Who is this boy?

  His voice was steady, but curiosity laced every word. Something passed through her eyes discomfort, perhaps, or something much heavier. She set down her pen, eyelashes fluttering as she took a slow breath.

  Duong: That man? she murmured, her voice distant.

  Duong: He's handsome, isn't he? Maybe... the most handsome man I've ever known.

  Her voice trembled slightly, and Yaroslav noticed the way her beautiful eyes reddened, as though holding back a wave of emotion.

  Yaroslav: Duong...

  He whispered, instinctively reaching out.

  Yaroslav: Are you about to cry?

  Before he could think twice, he wiped away the forming tears from her eyes, then pulled her into his arms. It was impulsive but it felt like something he had longed to do for so long. Her small body leaned against him, fragile but warm.

  She finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Duong: nothing, It’s just… He's my brother.

  Yarsolav: Your brother?

  The relief that passed Yaroslav at first but it faded the moment he realized the sorrow in her voice hadn’t disappeared.

  Duong exhaled shakily.

  Duong: Our mother died when we were little. My world was just my brother and my grandfather. My brother... He was the kindest person I ever knew.

  She hesitated, voice breaking.

  Duong: But he’s gone.

  Duong: He simply left me. Ever since he passed, I see him everywhere—in the faces of strangers, in fleeting shadows. Somehow, I can still feel him near me… as if he never truly left.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. Yaroslav felt a pang of guilt, an ache deep in his chest. Gently, he reached out, brushing aside the strands of hair clinging to her face.

  Duong: He was so smart… and kind.

  A faint, wistful smile flickered across her lips before fading.

  Duong: If he were still alive, he would be 19 now.

  Yaroslav: You don’t have to be sad,…I can be your brother.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Duong looked at him, her eyes softening before she smiled a quiet, unspoken thank you.

  That night, as Yaroslav lay in his room, staring at the ceiling, he realized something. At the very least, his relationship with Duong was more than just friendship. And for now, that was enough.

  The next morning, Yaroslav was busy working at the auto repair shop. He was a mechanic, a job he genuinely enjoyed. Fixing machines required focus, and that focus helped silence the intrusive thoughts, the lingering illusions, and the emotional turbulence that often clouded his mind.

  Before this, after returning from the Chechen war, he had tried his hand at boxer and even competed as an MMA fighter for a short while—until a Brazilian fighter beat him so badly he decided to retire. The reason for his cauliflower ears. ??

  Now, he's just a chill guy spending all days fixing cars. (idk, sounded cute.)

  Suddenly, Duong arrived at the shop and greeted him. Yaroslav, caught off guard, blinked in surprise. But then, warmth spread through him. He slid out from under the car he’d been working on, dusted off his hands, and returned her greeting with a grin.

  Duong handed Yaroslav an enrollment form that needed to be filled out and began asking him a few questions. As he glanced over the paper, something caught his eye her full name was written as "Tran Thi Ly" instead of Duong.

  Yaroslav furrowed his brows in curiosity.

  Yaroslav: This is your real name? Then why did you tell me your name was Duong?

  Duong hesitated for a moment before replying.

  Duong: Ah… Duong is just a nickname. My brother used to call me that—his little sunflower. After he passed away, no one called me Duong anymore. So I just… uhh, I guess I just wanted people to call me that again.

  Duong: so yeah, calling me Duong

  Yaroslav: Ah… I see…

  Duong: Oh my god, why is filling out school paperwork so exhausting?

  Duong sighed in frustration before looking up at Yaroslav with a sudden smile. That unexpected expression made something kind of love that cannot be ignored, even though it wasn't the first time she had smiled at him like that.

  Duong: Oh! You have a tattoo on your arm?

  Caught off guard, Yaroslav instinctively hid his arm behind his back, a flicker of embarrassment flashing across his face. He actually had three tattoos—one large one across his chest and two more on his arms. But all three were reminders of a past he wasn’t exactly proud of.

  When he was sixteen, he had inked a Ku Klux Klan flag onto his arm. Later, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, he had added a swastika to the collection. And worst of all, the biggest tattoo of them all, scrawled across his chest in bold letters: "SEX BOOM MAN."

  It was supposed to say something else. He had no idea what had gone wrong.

  It was ridiculous, shameful even. The Klan flag? The swastika? That was a foolish phase, a desperate attempt to fit into something after the world he knew crumbled. The third one, though… well, that was just a permanent reminder of his own stupidity. He had managed to move past his old ideologies—though he still had a complicated relationship with certain people but nothing would ever erase the absolute humiliation of that stupid, misspelled tattoo.

  And now, here was Duong, pointing at it with pure curiosity.

  Duong: Wow, so you really like black people, huh? THIS, this flag—I've seen it before! There was this small group hanging one up, and two Black guys were performing on stage. They even invited me to watch! But I didn’t have any white clothing with me, so I couldn’t really join them. Their hats looked so silly though, super cute! >o<

  Yaroslav froze.

  For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Then, without warning, he burst into laughter deep, uncontrollable laughter that shook his shoulders and echoed through the workshop. Her innocence, her complete lack of understanding, was somehow both ridiculous and endearing.

  Still, he needed to warn her.

  Yaroslav: Yeah… yeah… I mean, they can be friendly, sure. But most of them… well, let’s just say, they’re old friends of mine, and they don’t really want to play with me anymore.

  Duong: oh...okay

  Since Yaroslav had never stood in front of Duong wearing a tank top before, she had never had the chance to see his tattoos up close. Now that she did, curiosity flickered in her eyes.

  Duong: Oh… so, you’re a Nazi. Uhhh…

  She stared at the swastika inked onto his arm, her expression unreadable.

  Duong: So, when are you going to show me the one on your chest? Misha told me you have a big tattoo there.

  Yaroslav stiffened.

  Out of all his tattoos, that one was the last thing he wanted Duong to see. But then she looked up at him, her eyes wide, pleading, like a puppy begging for a treat.

  Damn it.

  With a defeated sigh, he gave in. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled off his shirt, revealing the ridiculous, misspelled shame that had haunted him for years.

  Yaroslav braced himself, expecting Duong to burst into laughter, to mock the ridiculous tattoo that had been a source of regret for years.

  But her reaction caught him off guard.

  Duong: Oh, Freddie Mercury! I really like him too.

  Yaroslav: Uh… yeah. He’s my favorite singer.

  It was true.

  Freddie Mercury being gay had never bothered Yaroslav. He had been too lost in the music to care. That voice, that presence, that sheer power on stage… it had been enough to make Yaroslav forget everything else.

  But then, he noticed something strange.

  Duong wasn’t even looking at his tattoo anymore.

  No.

  Her eyes were fixated on something else entirely.

  Yaroslav squinted. Was she… was she checking out his abs?

  And before he could process it, she reached out. Her fingers poking his stomach with curious fascination.

  Well. She’s just a girl.

  Yaroslav smirked, realization dawning upon him. Of course. No woman could possibly resist someone as ridiculously attractive as him. It was only natural.

  With an exaggerated flourish, he struck a pose, flexing his muscles like a model in some cheesy fitness ad.

  Yaroslav: Little pervert. Behold what every woman desires.

  They kept talking, their conversation drifting from one topic to another, effortlessly weaving between jokes and stories.

  At some point, Duong picked up a pen and, without asking, began to draw on Yaroslav’s back.

  The cool ink against his skin made him shiver slightly, but he didn’t stop her. He let her work, feeling the slow, deliberate movements of her hand as she sketched.

  Flowers.

  Yaroslav couldn’t see them, but he could tell by the way her fingers moved, by the soft hum of concentration escaping her lips—that she was pouring a part of herself into this.

  Her strokes were bold yet delicate, just like her.

  When she finally pulled back, admiring her work, Yaroslav turned his head slightly.

  Yaroslav: You’re good at this.

  Duong: Of course. I am an artist, after all.

  She smirked, twirling the pen between her fingers. Yaroslav chuckled, running a hand over his inked skin, feeling something stir inside him.

  An idea.

  A reckless, impulsive idea.

  One that he already knew he would go through with.