“— Miss, may I help you?” he called out, noticing how the woman was struggling with two heavy grocery bags.

“— Sorry for approaching you so suddenly, but it looks like the bags are about to slip from your hands. Please, allow me to carry them for you.”

“— Oh, really? Are you sure? Aren’t they too heavy?” the woman replied with a shy smile. “— Thank you so much, that’s very kind of you.”

The man lifted the bags effortlessly, as if they were filled with air, and began walking forward with a broad, confident stride. The woman, plump and pleasant-looking, picked up her pace to keep up with him. Together, they made a rather amusing sight: he — tall and strong, his gait wide and rhythmic like a soldier on parade; she — small and soft, round like a cheesecake fresh from the oven, curls bouncing with every hurried step. She needed two strides for each one of his.

“— Please, slow down a little!” she called out between breaths. “— I’m completely out of breath.”

He stopped and turned to her, as if waking from a daydream.

“— I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“— If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, now studying his face, “— what were you thinking about so deeply?”

Her name was Galina, and she immediately noticed how out of place he looked — dressed in patched, faded clothes more suited to winter, with a faraway look in his eyes, as though he had wandered in from another time. Curiosity got the better of her.

“— Come on, tell me. Something's clearly weighing on you.”

“— Just life… myself,” he replied with a long sigh.

“— Life isn’t treating you well?”

“— It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. “— I just think too much sometimes.”

“— And you don’t drink, do you?” she asked, cautiously.

“— No, I don’t. I’ve never touched the stuff.”

“— Thank God,” Galya said with genuine relief. “— What’s your name? I’m Galina. You can call me Galka.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if searching for something that wasn’t there.

“— They call me Vaska. It’s more of a nickname.”

“— A nickname? Don’t you like your real name?”

“— It’s not that…” he lowered his eyes. “— I just don’t know what my real name is.”

Galina stopped mid-step, stunned. But quickly she composed herself.

“— You don’t remember?”

“— That’s right. Memory loss. They found me on the highway, barely alive. Bruised, dirty, in ripped clothes. I was lying there like some abandoned stray. A driver stopped, called an ambulance, and they took me to the hospital.”

“— My God… And you remember nothing?”

“— Not a single clear memory. Occasionally, there are flickers — faces, voices, rooms, flashes of light — but nothing solid. It’s like watching someone else’s movie.”

“— What happened after that?”

“— They couldn’t identify me. I had no documents. So they sent me to a shelter, and gave me the name Vasiliy. I’ve kept it since. It’s something, at least. I have a roof, food, and odd jobs to keep me going.”

“— What do you do?”

“— Whatever I can. I help at the market, carry things for vendors, do cleaning work. Sometimes I assist the butcher. It’s not much, but I survive.”

“— And before all this… nothing? Not even a glimpse?”

“— No. It’s like I was born again. I didn’t have to learn to walk or talk, but everything else — life itself — I had to start from zero.”

Galina looked at him with a mixture of sadness and admiration.

“— You’ve been through a lot, Vasya. But if you’ve made it this far, I’m sure you’ll find your way. Memory is a strange thing — sometimes it sleeps for years, and then suddenly, one day, it wakes up.”

“— Maybe you’re right,” he murmured.

“— Of course I am! Why dwell on what you’ve lost when there’s still so much ahead? You’re strong, capable. Would you like a steady job?”

“— I’d love that,” he said sincerely.

“— Then come with me. I’ll talk to my employer. She owns a large house and always needs a hand. Maybe something will turn up.”

“— Really? Thank you! Let’s not waste time then.”

Vasiliy only now noticed they’d been standing still for a while, gathering curious glances from passing pedestrians.

“— Is it far?”

“— Not really. I usually go by car, but today the driver’s off. I had to walk to pick up a turkey for the household.”

“— What do you do there?”

“— I’m the cook. It’s demanding, but the conditions are good. The employer’s quiet and reserved. She changed after her son and husband passed away. But she’s fair, and generous with pay.”

As they approached tall, wrought-iron gates flanked by jasmine bushes in full bloom, Vasiliy stopped. A strange sensation washed over him — something deep in his chest stirred, as if memory wanted to break the surface — but it vanished like mist.

“— Why did you stop? Come on, don’t be afraid,” Galina encouraged.

They entered the property, following a stone path that led to a large, brick two-story house. Inside the kitchen, warm and bright, the air was thick with the comforting aroma of baked bread and simmering soup.

“— Here we are — my little kingdom of pots and pans,” Galina smiled. “— Make yourself at home. I’ll bring lunch to the lady of the house and talk to her about you. Sit down, rest a bit.”

He looked around the kitchen — everything felt unusually familiar. The warmth, the scent, even the sound of the clock ticking on the wall. He couldn’t place why, but it felt… safe.

“— You must be hungry. Try this while I’m gone,” Galina said, placing a plate of steaming food in front of him.

“— I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“— Don’t be silly. Just eat,” she said, already walking away.

He picked up the spoon, took a bite — and closed his eyes. The taste was overwhelming in its familiarity. It felt like home.

---

“— Rimma, may I come in?” Galina peeked into a quiet room.

Rimma sat by the window, thumbing through an old photo album. She did this often, losing herself in memories. Galina had never seen the album’s contents before — Rimma always guarded it carefully.

“— Thank you, Galya. You can go rest… unless you needed something?”

Galina hesitated, fingers fumbling with her apron.

“— I… wanted to ask you for a favor. Please don’t be upset. There’s someone — a good man, really. Young, hardworking. He needs a job. The only thing is… he doesn’t have documents. It’s complicated, but he’s honest. He even helped me carry the turkey.”

Rimma was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“— Alright. Bring him to me.”

“— But you haven’t had lunch yet!”

“— That can wait. Let’s meet him first.”

They returned to the kitchen, where Vasiliy stood by the window, lost in thought.

“— Vasya, come here, please.”

As he turned, Rimma’s face drained of color. Her breath caught. She took a step back, and slowly collapsed into the nearest chair.

“— Rimma Alekseevna! What’s wrong?!” Galina cried.

Together they helped her to sit and drink some water.

“— Are you alright? Should we call someone?”

**“— No… just tell me… What’s your name?” she asked the man.

“— Vasiliy.”

“— And your real name?” her voice trembled. “You’re not just Vasya, are you?”

“— I… I don’t know. I have amnesia.”

Rimma stared deeply into his eyes, searching.

“— Klim…” she whispered. “Your name is Klim.”

“— What? How do you know that? I don’t even remember…”

“— Because I’m your mother. I named you.”

Galina stood frozen, her mind reeling.

“— But you said your son…”

“— I thought he was dead,” Rimma replied softly. “— Bring me the album. Please.”

She turned its pages with trembling hands.

**“— We couldn’t conceive for years. But then, a miracle — I got pregnant after we stayed with my father-in-law, in a quiet