Lukas's mind wandered, and he was transported back to the chaos of war. The sounds of gunfire and screams still lingered in his mind. He blinked, and the memories receded, replaced by the stark reality of his surroundings.
The door creaked open, and a small figure entered. Natasha's curious eyes scanned the room before landing on Lukas. He felt a pang of... something, as he gazed at her. There was something familiar about her features, a spark in her eyes that brought back memories he thought he'd long buried.
Natasha's gaze fixed on Lukas's face, and she asked, "What's with the scar above your eyebrow?" Lukas responded in casual Russian, trying to maintain his cover. "Just a little souvenir from a fight."
Natasha's eyes lit up. "I've never seen anyone with a scar like that before. Are you from around here?" Lukas smiled, playing along. "No, I'm from... a different village."
The conversation flowed easily, with Natasha asking about his hair and eyes. Lukas answered, keeping his responses light and carefree. Then, Natasha asked, "Have you ever been to Moscow?" Lukas's expression turned wry, and he chuckled. "Moscow is not a place I would like to visit again" he replied, his voice low.
Natasha's curiosity was insatiable, and she asked about other country capitals. "What about Berlin?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. Lukas's gaze drifted, and for a moment, he remembered his mother's face, her warm smile and gentle touch. He pushed the memory aside, focusing on Natasha's question. "I've heard it's a beautiful city," he said, his voice neutral.
As they continued to chat, Lukas found himself lost in the simplicity of the conversation, a welcome respite from the darkness that haunted him.
Anastasia walked into the room, her eyes narrowing as she saw Lukas and Natasha laughing together. The warmth in her chest turned to ice, and her hatred for him reignited. She strode over to Natasha, calling out to her in a voice that brooked no argument. "Natasha, come here."
Natasha obediently walked over to Anastasia, who wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "Go outside, dear. I need to speak with... him." Anastasia's gaze never left Lukas's face as she sent Natasha away.
As the door closed behind Natasha, Anastasia turned her attention to Lukas. "What were you telling my sister?" she demanded, her voice low and menacing.
Lukas's gaze had been fixed on Natasha, but it shifted to Anastasia, and his expression changed. He seemed to be studying her face, his eyes lingering on her features. Anastasia felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized he had noticed the resemblance between her and Natasha. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of recognition, that made her skin crawl.
Anastasia's anger simmered, waiting for Lukas to respond. But he didn't. He just stared at her, his eyes lost in thought. Anastasia's anger boiled over, and she spat at him. "What were you saying to her? Answer me!"
Lukas's gaze didn't waver, but he finally responded. "We were just talking about... casual things."
Anastasia's face twisted in disgust. "You shouldn't be talking to my sister at all. You're corrupting her, making her think like... like a fascist." The last word slipped out in German, "Faschist," and Anastasia's eyes widened in surprise, realizing she had given away her knowledge of the language.
Lukas's gaze snapped back to hers, a hint of surprise in his eyes. Anastasia's anger only intensified, and she took a step closer to him. "Don't talk to her again," she warned, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't even look at her."
Anastasia stormed out of the room, her anger and frustration still simmering. She had forgotten why she had come in the first place, her mind consumed by the encounter with Lukas. As she walked out, she nearly collided with Babushka, who was carrying a tray with a small meal for Lukas.
Babushka's warm eyes met Anastasia's, and she smiled softly. "Anastasia, dear, I'm so sorry for what I said yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you."
Anastasia's anger melted away instantly, replaced by a deep affection for the old woman. "It's nothing, Babushka. Don't worry about it." She smiled weakly and continued out the door.
Babushka watched her go before entering the room where Lukas was sitting. She set the tray down in front of him, and Lukas's eyes lit up at the sight of the meager meal. He dug in hungrily, and Babushka smiled.
"Babushka?" Lukas asked between bites. "The young lady speaks German?"
Babushka nodded. "Yes, her grandfather was German. She was fascinated with the language and culture as a child." Her expression turned somber. "Imagine her surprise when the Germans brought death and destruction to our front doors."
Lukas's mood shifted, and he looked down at his food, his eyes almost rejecting them. Babushka sat down beside him, her eyes filled with a deep wisdom.
"You know, Lukas, a single person can define a generation. A single event can change the course of history. But it's not just the big things that shape us – it's the small moments, the choices we make, the words we speak. Change is a powerful thing, and it can come from the most unexpected places."
Lukas looked up at her, his eyes searching for meaning behind her words. Babushka's gaze was gentle, but her words carried a weight that made Lukas feel like she was staring into the depths of his soul.
He also found himself wondering about the Young woman's identity "What's her name?" He asks trying to sound casual
Babushka's expression turned enigmatic, and she smiled. "That's for you to figure out, Lukas. If you're interested, that is." She stood up, her eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. "Sometimes, the things we want to know the most are right in front of us. We just need to look closely."
Lukas looked up at her, his eyes searching for answers, but Babushka just chuckled and walked away, leaving him to ponder the mystery of the young woman's identity.