Masha finished the remaining coffee and tossed the disposable cup into the trash can. Grabbing her purse, she strode energetically toward the crosswalk. “What a wonderful morning!” she thought, feeling a surge of joy from the first moments of awakening. And for good reason—the day had started exceptionally well: she had woken up earlier than usual, managed to get some work done, and answered some important correspondence. The morning hours had flown productively, and now she had free time to visit the beauty salon. Perhaps, after that, she would meet up with her friend Zhenya—they always found something to chat about. And in the evening she could even watch her favorite TV series. Simply delightful!
At the intersection, Masha impatiently tapped her heel on the asphalt, watching the passersby with a faint smile. Ahead of her stood a young couple, tenderly holding hands. This sight evoked mixed feelings in Masha—both tenderness and a slight sadness. She hadn’t been dating anyone for more than a year. There had been one young man, Sasha, with whom she had communicated every day for about a month, but he suddenly vanished from her life without explanation. She had been deeply upset at the time, for she had come to love him—at least, she believed the feeling was mutual. After that incident, Masha had closed herself off to new acquaintances. Perhaps the right person just hadn’t come along, or maybe she was still pining for Sasha—she couldn’t figure it out for herself.
When the traffic light turned green, the crowd moved forward. Having crossed the street, Masha pondered: where should she go first—the post office or the beauty salon? She decided to start with the hairdresser’s—maybe there would be an available slot, and she could quickly freshen up her look. That’s exactly how it turned out—the stylist suggested she come in half an hour, so Masha decided to pass the time in a nearby park.
Sitting on a bench and watching people, Masha noticed an elderly man nearby. He was looking around anxiously, holding a grocery bag in one hand (you could see bread and sausage), while with the other he clung to the backrest of the bench. He must have been about eighty, maybe even older. What especially caught Masha’s attention was a bouquet of flowers he periodically examined with his hand. That detail seemed unusual to Masha—it was rare to see people of that age with flowers. It was obvious that this bouquet held special significance for him.
Suddenly, the old man took a deep breath and attempted a few steps, but immediately staggered and nearly fell, catching himself at the last moment on the bench. Masha instantly sprang up and rushed to him: “Hello! Are you feeling unwell? May I help you?”
The elderly man looked at her, his eyes brimming with tears. Masha was struck by a deep sense of pity—those same eyes reminded her of her late grandmother’s, full of fear, longing, and helplessness. She realized she had to help.
The old man gave a sheepish smile, and the deeply wrinkled lines on his face softened. His voice turned out to be unexpectedly deep and pleasant: “Oh, dear, I guess I overestimated my strength. I thought I could manage, but I haven’t been out on the street for ages… Now my legs simply won’t hold up. I don’t know what to do next…”
Masha smiled encouragingly at him: “Let’s sit down for a bit and rest, regain your strength. Allow me to help,” she offered, extending her hand.
The old man gratefully grasped her trembling hand. Once he was comfortably seated on the bench, Masha sat down beside him. With a sigh of relief, the man pulled out a handkerchief to dab the sweat from his face.
“I am very grateful to you, dear girl. You are so kind… In our time, such kindness was a rarity. In the past, people always helped each other, but now there’s only indifference everywhere. I don’t know how much longer I have to live, but I just can’t get used to these unfeeling faces…”
“You’ve pleasantly surprised me—you remind me so much of my grandson. He is just as responsive as you are,” the elderly man said.
Masha couldn’t help but smile as she listened to him. In her imagination, an image of a grandson immediately formed—probably some bookish fellow in glasses and cropped trousers. It was hard to picture a modern young man with tattoos and piercings alongside such a grandfather.
“Modern youth is completely different from our generation, which has endured so many hardships: famine, deprivation, hard times,” Anatoly Ivanovich continued.
Even though Masha was only twenty-four, she was different from her peers. She held elders in high regard, was always ready to help, thought about the future, followed the norms of decency, and dressed modestly. Yes, her modesty and shyness were rarely appreciated nowadays.
“What’s your name, dear?” the old man inquired. “Maria.” “A beautiful name! And my name is Anatoly Ivanovich.”
Masha blushed slightly. “May I ask… for whom are the flowers intended?”
The elderly man looked tenderly at the bouquet. “They are for my wife. She loves flowers, and I have always tried to brighten her day with at least one bloom. Today is a special day—it’s our wedding anniversary. That’s why I decided to go shopping. Only my health let me down…”
This day was the most important in his life—the day he joined his fate with his beloved woman. Who knows how many more times he would be able to present her with flowers on such a celebration?
Masha made up her mind to help the old man—she simply couldn’t do otherwise. She rose determinedly: “I will see you home. I have no urgent matters at all. I’d be glad to keep you company. It’s so interesting talking with you! Let everyone envy me for having such a wonderful companion!”
Anatoly Ivanovich looked at the girl in amazement. The last sentence even elicited a small laugh from him, which turned into a light cough. “I cannot refuse such a kind offer, young lady. Your help is truly needed, and I would be very happy to have you accompany me on this challenging walk.”
Masha supported the old man by the arm. Despite his protests, she took the grocery bag from him. All that remained in Anatoly Ivanovich’s hand was the bouquet, and together they slowly set off, following the directions given by the elderly man. He couldn’t provide an exact address, but assured her that the home was nearby.
After about half an hour, they reached their destination. Towering before them was a brand-new nine-story building, recently constructed. Masha was surprised—she had expected to see an old building where Anatoly Ivanovich and his wife lived in a modest apartment, no doubt already worried about her husband’s long absence.
It was hard to imagine a retiree living in a modern building, but he confidently keyed in a code at the door, and it opened. They rode the elevator to the sixth floor. Approaching the designated door, the old man decisively pressed the doorbell. A few seconds later, footsteps were heard.
Masha expected to see a sweet old lady who would scold her husband for his prolonged absence, but instead a young male voice resounded: “Grandpa, thank God! I was so worried! How could you leave on your own? You know that anything could have happened. What would I have done then?” Anatoly Ivanovich smiled, nodded toward Masha, and said, “Don’t scold, grandson. Yes, I’m at fault. But this young lady helped me, so we have a guest.”
The grandson peered out from the apartment, and Masha froze. It was Sasha—the very same one with whom she had parted in such a mysterious way. The one she continued to love and remember. Seeing the girl, Sasha turned pale and froze, unable to utter a word. A silence fell, broken only by the sound of the closing elevator. Masha shuddered. “Are we standing like statues? Let’s go in. My legs can hardly hold after such a journey. I need to sit down. And you, Sasha, offer the girl some tea. It seems you have some raspberry jam. Surely, Maria will like it, right, young lady?” said the old man.
Sasha shifted his gaze from his grandfather to the girl and invited her: “Come on, I’m sorry for my behavior. I forgot the manners of hospitality.” Masha couldn’t refuse—Anatoly Ivanovich was looking at her with such a warm, familiar smile, as if she were his beloved granddaughter.
They entered the apartment. Masha watched in astonishment as Sasha tenderly cared for his grandfather. He carefully took the bouquet from him, then helped remove his worn-out shoes. The elderly man’s face brightened as his grandson helped him put on a pair of soft, cozy slippers. Supporting his grandfather by the arm, Sasha led him into the room. Masha remained in the hall, attentively surveying the surroundings. Nothing indicated that an elderly person lived there. Everything was modern—no antique knick-knacks, no vintage furniture, no traditional rugs. Everywhere were Sasha’s belongings—like those very blue sneakers she remembered so well. Everything looked modern and clearly belonged to the men. But Anatoly Ivanovich had mentioned his wife… Not a single pair of women’s shoes was to be found. It all seemed strange.
Sasha returned and looked at Masha with embarrassment. He appeared exhausted and in need of rest. “Let’s go to the kitchen—I see you have some questions,” he offered. Masha removed her shoes and followed him.
The kitchen, too, bore a stark masculine style. The little touches typical of a female presence were absent. A modern kettle with touch controls, a microwave set too high for an elderly person—only two chairs were present, though there was space for more. Masha sat on one of them, and Sasha activated the nearly imperceptible control panel on the kettle. Then he looked at the girl, and she noticed embarrassment in his eyes.
“I didn’t expect to meet you. I really don’t know what to say. Perhaps you’ll explain why we lost touch? Weren’t we good together… Or was it only my imagination?” Masha blurted out emotionally.
Sasha frowned. “That’s a complicated question. I can’t answer it right away. It’s a long story.”
Masha grew angry. “Long? So I’m undeserving of hearing the truth just because the story is long? Fine then, no need. But at least tell me, where is Anatoly Ivanovich’s wife? He bought the flowers—it’s her special day. Why isn’t she at home?”
Sasha covered his face with his hands and responded gloomily: “She’s no longer with us. It’s been over a year now.”
Masha was shocked. She had never suspected such attachment between Sasha and his grandmother. She was aware of his difficult childhood after the loss of his parents in an accident, but this aspect of his life had remained hidden.
Tears welled up in Masha’s eyes. Sasha softly murmured, “Thank you for bringing him home. After he rests, I will take him to his grandmother’s grave to lay flowers.”
Sasha’s gaze became intense; he alternated between looking into Masha’s eyes and her lips, then he smiled and said, “I’d be delighted if you kept us company. Grandpa will be pleased too—he never called anyone ‘young lady’ except for his wife and you. It seems you reminded him of her.”
Masha laughed shyly. Together they set off for the cemetery. Upon seeing the gravestone of his beloved wife, Anatoly Ivanovich grew somber again, but Masha managed to lift his spirits.
From then on, Masha began visiting them often, and Sasha and his grandfather sometimes came to see her. Six months later, Sasha proposed, and Masha agreed to become his wife. She moved in with them, and now the three of them lived together—Sasha, Masha, and Anatoly Ivanovich, who continued to call his daughter-in-law and granddaughter “dear young lady.”
