The sun stood high, melting the air above the village; even the old wooden fences looked dazzling white. Dust rose slowly along the road — golden, soft, as if it too wanted to witness the moment. The car stopped by the gate, and silence — dense, expectant — seemed to hold its breath.
The young man got out first — tall, in a light shirt, a little nervous. Behind him stepped a girl — slender, fair-haired, holding a bouquet of wild daisies. She looked around, as if trying to recall whether she had been there before. The air smelled of apple blossoms and warm dust; somewhere behind the barn, a dog barked lazily.
On the porch stood an elderly woman — in a dark dress, one hand gripping the doorframe for balance. She squinted against the sunlight — and then froze. A look of recognition flickered across her eyes, so sudden that her lips began to tremble.
The girl came closer, smiling shyly, and offered the flowers. And at that moment, the grandmother began to cry. Not loudly — just silent tears running down her wrinkled cheeks like spring meltwater over snow.
Everyone stood still. The young man lowered his head, confused.
“Grandma… what’s wrong?” he whispered.
But she only shook her head and repeated the same words, over and over:
“Dear God… that face…”
Later, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, they sat in the yard. On the table — tea, pie, and an old photo album with faded pictures.
And then Grandma spoke.
Once, she said, she had a sister — Nina. She’d left after the war and never came back. Letters stopped coming long ago. Only one photograph remained: two little girls beneath an apple tree, both laughing, both with braids.
“You look just like the one who left,” the old woman said softly, gazing at the fiancée. “The same eyes. The same smile.”
The girl froze.
“My grandmother’s name was Nina,” she whispered. “She always told me she once had a sister in a village… but they lost touch.”
And in that instant, everyone understood why fate had brought them together in such a strange, beautiful way.
Twilight fell gently, as if someone had covered the house with a warm blanket. The swallows rustled under the roof; far away, a cow mooed in the fields.
Grandma sat on the bench, watching the two young people — smiling now through the last glimmer of daylight.
She thought that nothing in life happens without reason. That even separation, if you wait long enough, one day returns — in someone’s eyes, in a smile, in a simple *“hello.”*
