The old, half-rusted Ford pulled up to the bus stop. The driver flashed his headlights and slowly, with the help of his own hands, rolled down the window. A clear profile of a man with swarthy skin, eyes as dark as coal, thin lips, and a straight, even nose came into view.
The taxi driver looked to be around fifty, though Nastya could be wrong. She wasn’t great at guessing ages, nor was she skilled at reading a person’s character through their nonverbal cues. Good thing she hadn’t chosen psychology as a career and had instead settled on the straightforward, grounded profession of “general practitioner,” later specializing in pediatrics.
“You Anastasia?” the man asked, rubbing his nose, which had turned red from the chilly winter air.
“Yeah,” Nastya replied, biting her lip to hide her disappointment. When she’d booked a taxi from the train station to the hotel, she’d wanted one thing—a comfortable, reliable car that would get her to her destination quickly and easily. Instead, she got… well, what she got. And somehow, the operator had failed to mention that her ride was barely holding together when confirming the booking. Why hadn’t she just used the hotel’s shuttle service? Was she trying to save a few bucks?
“Then hop in,” the man said, waving her toward his rusty beast of a car. He did so with a wide grin, showing off every tooth in his mouth. “It’s pretty warm and cozy inside, and I can see you’re freezing. Look at those rosy cheeks.”
Nastya didn’t refuse her pumpkin of a taxi. She didn’t consider herself some uppity city girl, and finding another ride in this place, especially at this late hour, was pretty much “impossible and pointless.”
Sighing heavily, she adjusted the scarf her neighbor Lyubanya had given her for last Christmas, opened the door, and took the passenger seat. The driver kindly tossed her suitcase, packed with essentials for the next few days, into the trunk before settling into his own seat and driving off toward the hotel.
The interior was indeed warm, though not as comfortable as she’d hoped. Still, Nastya didn’t dwell on the small stuff, instead focusing her attention on the snowflakes swirling in a winter dance outside the car window. They drew her in, enchanting her with their effortless fall and sparking an incredible, almost childlike joy. The kind of joy you feel when you get that long-awaited kitten or puppy as a gift, or when you’ve worked hard all year to earn the boots, pom-pom hat, or pretty dress just like your classmate Elena’s, all brought by St. Nicholas. And that same wild rush of euphoria when the boy you like asks you to dance for the first time, walks you home, and gives you a sweet goodbye kiss. Back then—when it’s the first time—everything feels so tender, gentle, and light.
Nastya gazed at the little town: its residents cheerfully strolling along snow-covered streets, the houses dusted with snow and adorned with Christmas decorations, while the driver quietly sang along to yet another chanson tune playing from the radio of some local station.
Smiling at the taxi driver’s enthusiasm and vocal efforts, Nastya settled more comfortably into her seat. Propping her hand under her cheek, she didn’t even notice when she dozed off. She was jolted awake by a strange sound and a screech, her body bouncing as if on a featherbed. The seatbelt, stretched to its limit, painfully pressed against the exposed skin of her neck and pinned her entire body. She yelped and snapped her eyes open. Right in front of the car’s bumper, a deer darted across the road—a big, hefty one with sprawling antlers.
“Bambi!” Nastya gasped in alarm, clutching the bottom of her seat. “Careful…” she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Her life flashed before her eyes, and her heart pounded in her chest. Fear burned up all the oxygen in the car, and pressing her lips together, she sucked in air through her nostrils.
“Our Bambi’s all grown up,” the driver rasped out a curse and tried to open the door. In his panic to avoid hitting the animal, he’d swerved the steering wheel, and the car slid into a ditch. The front left wheel sank deep into the snow. The engine stalled, the lights in the car went out, and with them, Nastya’s hopes for a relaxing stay at the hotel complex. Just three days, and yet.
“We’re stuck!” the driver’s voice declared, as he gestured wildly—grabbing his head and clutching the spot over his heart. “This is it! We’re not going anywhere.”
“But…” Nastya jumped out of her carriage, which had now quite literally turned into a pumpkin without even reaching the palace, and looked around. All she saw was forest, snowdrifts, and an asphalt road. Not a soul for miles. She knew that for sure because on the opposite side of the road, she spotted a sign indicating that the Bukovel highway was about twenty kilometers away.
“We passed Vorokhta about ten minutes ago,” the man said, standing beside her. “And to Bukovel—well, you can see for yourself. It’s a long haul.”
The prospect of being stranded in the middle of a forest with a taxi driver increasingly felt like a horror movie to Nastya. Her mood was steadily sinking. “I should’ve just gone on another blind date!”
“Maybe we can call for roadside assistance? There’s gotta be some kind of service around here, right?” Nastya said, her voice lighting up with hope, but she fell silent the moment she saw the driver’s furrowed brow.
“No signal out here. Zero chance of getting through to anyone. And a snowstorm’s starting up.”
“Oh, great. What a holiday getaway this turned out to be!”
“Get back in the car, warm up. I’ll try to catch a signal,” the driver said, raising a hand and trudging off in the opposite direction with a scowl on his face.
Nastya settled into the back seat, nearly dozing off, wrapped in her coat with her arms crossed over her chest. She had plenty of time for self-reflection and was already running through every curse word and hex she knew in her head when suddenly—a flash of light caught her eye in the side mirror. She turned her head and saw a massive dark SUV speeding down the highway like a jet. “Well, darn it!”
But in the next moment, the vehicle turned around and pulled up near the taxi driver, who was still waving his arms and jumping up and down. Nastya let out a sigh of relief. They were saved, and she wouldn’t have to spend the night who-knows-where.
Grabbing her beret and gloves from the front seat, she climbed out of the car and walked toward the SUV. With a smile on her face, she approached the men, who were loudly discussing something, and froze about a foot and a half away from them.
Her eyes refused to process what she was seeing, just as her brain refused to believe in a miracle. Or rather—a cruel twist of fate.
“Anyone but him…” Nastya thought, both angry and flustered at the same time, drowning in the amber whirlpools that had already noticed her—and even recognized her.