Novel Excerpts
Through the snow-covered streets of Stockholm, a short, stout man in a strangely tailored sheepskin coat repeatedly encounters a young woman singing in different locations. She performs arias from operas he knows and loves, her voice mesmerizing and astonishing in its beauty. He listens in admiration, along with a few passersby drawn in despite the swirling snow. After each performance and the money quietly dropped into her worn-out box by grateful listeners, a man with a criminal air leads her to a large black SUV. The man in the sheepskin coat doesn’t miss a single detail — he watches with concern as the car disappears into the snowy haze.
Evening fell faster than the snowflakes. Drottninggatan, the popular pedestrian street lined with shops and restaurants, was unusually empty. A short, stocky man in a peculiarly cut lambskin coat with the hood raised strolled, seemingly unaffected by the biting cold and snow flurries hitting his face. His gaze wandered over brightly decorated shop windows. Though the holidays had passed, the stores still shimmered with festive colors.
Occasionally, he paused to inspect partially snow-covered restaurant menus displayed near entrances. He wasn’t hungry—just curious. Truthfully, he was killing time, unsure of what to do in this unfamiliar city. The falling snow pleased him, stirring memories of his childhood in the high mountains.
He watched the few passersby as they hurried into shops and cafes. The snow-covered street bore few footprints as the fresh snowfall quickly erased them. On a nearby corner, someone walked a reluctant dog, which trotted hesitantly beside its owner. The scene made him smile spontaneously; he had always loved animals, especially dogs.
Approaching the arcade of an H&M store on a corner, he stepped into the shelter of the stone archways. His gaze lingered on the glowing window displays, where mannequins modeled the spring collection. Inside, the store appeared almost deserted—few braved the weather for post-holiday shopping.
A loud argument reached his ears as he stood behind one of the columns. Though he didn’t recognize the language, it reminded him of the girl’s voice from earlier that day. Curious, he mentally switched to what he jokingly called his “translate mode,” listening intently. Soon, he realized the conversation was in Ukrainian.
“No! I won’t sing when there’s no one here! And I’m cold!” cried a child’s voice, filled with frustration.
He immediately recognized the girl’s voice, which had sung beautifully that morning.
The sharp, unmistakable crack of a slap echoed. The noise jolted him from his thoughts, returning him to the moment.
“Don’t you ever say no to me again! Do you understand?” bellowed a man’s voice.
The stocky man moved swiftly behind the column, his steps eerily quick for size. The girl in the long coat and the dark-skinned man turned toward him, startled. He appeared before them as if out of nowhere, his presence almost ghostlike.
The girl held her hand to her cheek, her eyes brimming with tears. Her Russian hat lay in the snow at her feet, knocked off by the force of the slap. The man’s face stretched into a grin when he recognized the peculiar figure in the lambskin coat. The stocky man stared back coldly, motionless.
“Mister, she’ll sing anything you want, just for you,” the dark-skinned man said in broken English, his threatening gaze shifting to the girl.
The stocky man said nothing, but a faint smile crept onto his face. He noticed the girl wiping her tears with her sleeve before picking up her hat and tucking her long blonde hair beneath it. She nodded silently, agreeing to sing for him.
Turning back to the taller man, the stocky man stepped closer, his gaze unwavering despite their height difference.
“She cold is. She sing not” he said sharply, his first attempt at Ukrainian.
“Oh no, she’ll gladly sing anything you want, for as long as you like, right?” the dark-skinned man replied in English, not understanding that the stocky man talked Ukrainian. He cast another sharp look at the girl, who still seemed shaken.
The stocky man followed her gaze, seeing fear mingled with pleading in her eyes. He turned back to the dark-skinned man.
“She no sing me. Tea need she. She cold is. She warm must be.”
“She’s not cold. She’ll sing,” the man snapped. Turning to the girl, he barked in Ukrainian, “Sing!”
Lowering her gaze, the girl began to sing Yesterday by the Beatles, her voice trembling with emotion
“Stop!” the stocky man shouted suddenly. “Enough! I don’t she to sing! She tea want!”
The dark-skinned man’s patience snapped. Realizing he wouldn’t get any money from this stubborn stranger, he yelled furiously in Ukrainian, “Are you messing with me? First, you want her to sing; now you don’t!”
“I no said I wanted she to sing,” the stocky man replied calmly. “I tea only want her.”
“Damn your tea!” the taller man roared, swinging his large, tattooed fist toward the stocky man’s face.
The stocky man barely moved. What happened next was a blur to the girl. The taller man instantly collapsed onto the pavement, his face buried in the snow.
The girl stared at the fallen man, then at the peculiar figure standing over him. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes wide with surprise. Despite her fear and confusion, a smile crept onto her face.
Something fragile yet profound passed between them in that fleeting moment—a connection, a budding trust.
Without hesitation, the girl grabbed his hand and started running, pulling him along. They ran together through the snow-covered street, her long strides keeping pace with his quick, short steps. The stocky man’s smile never faded, as if he were marveling at what he’d gotten himself into.
They ran until a municipal snowplow appeared in the distance, its blade pushing snow aside as it approached. The girl veered into a side street, tugging him to avoid the machine.
The stocky man followed without protest, his hand still firmly held in hers. At one point, she turned to him, her voice trembling with fear as she said in her native language, “If they catch us, they’ll kill us...”
In order to rescue the girl from the grip of a criminal group exploiting children across European cities, the short, broad-shouldered man in the lambskin coat - later revealed to be a Chinese man nicknamed Gugl - decides to take her in and devises a plan to help her escape.
He changes her name and transforms her appearance - dyeing her hair and dressing her in the fashion of Asian teenage girls her age. Together, they travel to Hamburg, where their bond deepens. Trust turns into mutual respect, and a new kind of closeness begins to grow between them.
The girl, with the new name Maya, is fourteen years old. Thanks to her exceptional ear for music, she quickly begins learning Chinese from Gugl. She is fascinated by his flawless memory, encyclopedic knowledge, and the strange fact that he owns nothing but a few credit cards. She soon understands that this is his deliberate life philosophy: to own nothing, and yet be wealthy, not for luxury, but for the quiet safety it provides.
In fragments and quiet confessions, Maya tells him about the death of her parents and how she became enslaved by a gang that forced her to sing and beg on the streets. Gugl makes a final, irrevocable decision: he will help her, within the limits of what he can do.
In the end, he adopts her, by forging Chinese and British passports, thus giving Maya legal status as his daughter and offering her a chance at an entirely new life.
КОШАРНЕ
Alex couldn’t close her eyes all night, even though she had to go to school soon. Her mother had been crying the entire night while her father occasionally yelled. His voice sounded strange, different from how it usually was when he came home drunk.
„Це моя вина, я все програв. Божевільна голова, божевільна... ”[1] he kept repeating in a slurred, drunken voice.
At some point, he started crying, too, mumbling something through his tears. Alex could hear them both sobbing. Her mother, as always when her father came home drunk, remained silent. In the past, whenever she spoke up, he would beat her.
Eventually, her father fell asleep at the table. She peeked into the kitchen through the keyhole. She was terrified—terrified. Her father was terrific when he wasn’t drunk, which was becoming increasingly rare. He played with her, worked in the yard and garden, and treated her mother kindly. He would lovingly stroke her growing belly and talk about how proud he was to have a son. He had already chosen a name—Сергій (Serhiy), after his father. Alex was thrilled about having a brother. She’d finally have someone to play with at home...
Her mother, puffy-eyed from crying and lack of sleep, entered her room quietly to avoid waking her father. She kissed Alex on the cheek and wished her a good morning before leaving. Alex got ready in silence. It was morning; she was dressed for school. All she needed was her bag, shoes, and to head out the door.
Suddenly, she heard her mother scream:
„Юрій, що ти робиш, зберися!”[2]
She heard a chair fall in the kitchen, followed by her mother’s sobbing. Alex rushed to the door, pushed it open, and saw her father, still drunk, holding a gun. He had turned toward her mother, who was half-upright on the couch. A chair lay overturned on the floor behind him. Her mother raised one hand toward him while the other clutched her stomach. It was a desperate gesture to protect the baby and herself.
Her father fired the gun once. Then again.
Alex saw her mother collapse onto the couch, lifeless.
Her father turned his drunken gaze toward Alex and raised the gun in her direction.
„Вибачте... ”[3] he muttered and pulled the trigger.
She heard the shot but felt nothing - he missed.
Instinct took over. She slammed the door shut, ran across the room, and opened the window. She leaped into the yard and sprinted, barefoot except for her socks, toward the cornfield. Another gunshot rang out behind her. She felt it immediately and fell to the ground, shot. Seconds later, another gunshot echoed in the air. Then—silence. Her world went dark.
_________
Кошарне (ukr. Košarne) – a village in the Donetsk region located on the border with Russia.
[1] Ukr. "It’s my fault, I lost everything. Crazy head, crazy..."
[2] Ukr. "Yuriy, what are you doing? Get a grip!"
[3] Ukr. "Forgive me..."
After the tragic death of her entire family—caused by her father's gambling debts—Alex, later given the name Maya by Gugl, spends several months recovering in a modest rural clinic. She’s healing from a gunshot wound inflicted by her own father.
One day, a new nurse arrives: Irina, provocative in both appearance and behavior. With growing aggression, she tries to extract from Alex the location of a precious family relic—an old icon believed to be of immense value.
But Alex, devastated and withdrawn after the loss of her family, no longer speaks to anyone. As it turns out, she doesn’t even know where the relic is.
Irina fraudulently arranges for Alex to be transferred to Kiev after her recovery, where she can continue her education. Instead, Alex ends up on the streets of various cities, alongside other children forced by Irina’s violent gang to beg for money.
One day, the gang's dark-skinned leader accidentally discovers Alex’s extraordinary singing voice. From that moment on, she’s made to sing on the streets, bringing in far more money than she ever did by begging.
And then, one night—under dramatic and desperate circumstances—she meets Gugl. That encounter marks the beginning of a life-changing journey.
While walking through a park in Hamburg, Maya and Gugl unexpectedly run into Irina, who tries to harm them and finally force Maya to reveal the whereabouts of a priceless relic. Gugl, using his strange electronic devices, thwarts her attempt.
With Maya’s new travel documents, the two journey through various European cities—partly for Gugl’s work, and partly to stay ahead of the gang Maya once escaped.
But in Paris, they become targets of professionals—dangerous operatives. Once again, Gugl uses his extraordinary skills to neutralize the threat.
Maya first pulled out a plastic-wrapped item from the bag. She examined it briefly and realized it was a pair of headphones. She had seen people walking around with similar headphones when she was begging in Graz.
“What are these for?” she asked Gugl, who was unpacking groceries in the open-plan kitchen and preparing their next meal.
“I’ll show you now,” he replied, approaching her. He opened the plastic case and took out the headphones. Walking over to the music system on the shelf beneath the large LG television, he fiddled with a few buttons before playing music, likely from the radio. A modern French song started playing. He connected the headphones to the device, pressed another button, and suddenly, the music stopped filling the room. Instead, he held the headphones to Maya’s ear.
“The sound is amazing, but if I wear these, you won’t hear anything,” she observed.
“Yes, that’s the point. I am cooking, and I don’t want to disturb you with the sound of frying. You enjoy the pure sound,” he explained, turning off the device and pulling out the CD they had received as a gift. “Oh wow, this is great surprise. You receive the biggest trio. Look!” He handed the CD to Maya.
“These are singers—opera singers, right?” she said, turning the CD over. She read the titles and recognized some of the arias. “AMAZING! Please play it.”
Gugl removed the protective plastic, placed the CD into the player, and unplugged the headphones. As the room filled with the rich sounds of operatic voices, he explained to Maya:
“This CD, The Three Tenors in Concert 1990, was recorded during the FIFA World Cup – a football tournament held in Italy that year. The concert in Rome featured the world’s three most renowned tenors of the time: Luciano Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo, and José Carreras, accompanied by the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Zubin Mehta. Their performance was broadcast live worldwide, featuring popular operatic arias and duets. Over 17 million copies of the CD were sold globally, making it one of the best-selling classical albums of all time. While the trio later recorded two more concerts together, none achieved the success of this original one, which we listen now.”
Maya sat in an armchair, closed her eyes, and rested her head, lightly pressing her temples with her fingers as she absorbed the beautiful voices and music. Gugl, smiling, left her to enjoy the moment and returned to the kitchen. Instead of resuming meal prep, he put on his glasses and focused on what he saw through them.
Ten minutes later, Maya’s voice broke through the music.
“This is incredible,” she said, humming along to an aria as she walked over to Gugl.
Surprised, he quickly removed his glasses and immediately began speaking:
“What you were just humming is Pavarotti’s aria Nessun Dorma from Giacomo Puccini’s opera Turandot. The opera was composed between 1920 and 1924. Puccini didn’t live to see its premiere because he passed away in 1924. The opera debuted on April 25, 1926, at Teatro alla Scala in Milan. Arturo Toscanini conducted the performance, and the title role—”
Maya interrupted him sharply:
“Why are you wearing glasses in the kitchen? And I see you haven’t even finished unpacking the groceries…” Her voice carried a note of concern.
Gugl paused, signaling her to wait with his hand, then quickly put the glasses back on. Maya puzzled, stood beside him, watching as he scanned the images in his glasses. Impatient, she began unloading the remaining vegetables from one of the bags, arranging them on the kitchen counter.
After a few minutes, Gugl removed the glasses, turned to Maya, and said:
“Some strange things happen. But we are fine—don’t worry. All is under control.”
“What’s under control? What strange thing is happening? You’re hiding something from me—I can see it on your face…”
“Gugl hides nothing from you. Gugl protect you.”
“From who? Is it them again?” she asked anxiously.
Still wearing the glasses, Gugl replied, “Not sure. I'll check and tell you... I don’t know yet.”
He pressed a few buttons on the glass frame, removed them, and placed them on Maya’s face. She saw a clear black-and-white image, like the old TV screen she and her mother used to watch children’s shows or figure skating on. Before she could feel nostalgic, she saw the building entrance where two men were working on something. Moments later, they burst through the door and ran inside. One entered the elevator while the other started climbing the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
Suddenly, the man on the stairs began staggering, grabbing the wall for support before collapsing. The one in the elevator noticed but couldn’t do anything. He looked around nervously, glancing down at the fallen man worriedly. Exiting the elevator, he met the same fate, falling in front of the stairs leading to their attic apartment.
Maya watched everything with her hand covering her mouth in shock.
“Do you recognize the men? Do you see before them?” Gugl asked quickly, removing the glasses and noticing the fear in her eyes.
She shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen them before.”
At that, Gugl rushed past her, opening the apartment door and calling back, “You stay—I’ll go back soon.” He bolted down the stairs, and Maya, defying his instruction, ran after him.
To her astonishment, Gugl descended the stairs with incredible speed for someone of his physical build. She barely caught up with him as he finished searching for the man lying unconscious at the base of the stairs leading to their attic. Without hesitation, he moved to the man sprawled on the first floor, meticulously patting him down and lifting the sleeves of his jacket as if searching for something specific.
Neither of them carried weapons, identification, phones, or any communication device. Nothing. Not even tattoos.
Gugl paused, deep in thought. “These are professionals. From their physiques, they seem British. Their physical conditioning and how they navigated the stairs suggest they’re either former SAS operatives or from some other elite unit. In any case, they’re well-trained professionals. But what confuses me is their lack of weapons... Ah, of course—professionals. But what were they after?”
He turned to Maya.
“Back to apartment—now!”
Maya obediently turned and sprinted up the stairs. They climbed quickly, skipping over the man lying unconscious near the final flight leading to the attic. Once inside, Gugl shut the door behind them and addressed Maya in a calm, reassuring tone, showing no trace of breathlessness:
“Don’t be afraid. Those two were pawns. They out of the game now. Just like Irina—though she was more of a bishop than a pawn. These two... they not know who are, where they are, or why they are here. They not know even each other. They not remember anything. But they alive. Chances are, they all two end in mental hospital…”
Maya collapsed into an armchair, still catching her breath from running and the intensity of the moment. She was quiet but visibly calm. Gugl sat beside her, and they locked eyes. He had never seen her look so severe before.
“You not listen to me! But you incredibly brave. Gugl is proud…”
He broke into his infectious laughter, gently ruffling her hair.
This time, Maya didn’t respond. She turned her head away and, in a quiet but firm voice, said:
“I want an explanation. I want to know what’s going on—and I can see that you know exactly what this is.”
Gugl placed both hands on his bald head and lowered it. The laughter was gone now, replaced by a heavy silence.
A MONTH OR TWO EARLIER
HONG KONG – THE AUCTION
Gugl found the only available seat in Christie’s auction hall in the James Christie Room on the 22nd floor of Alexandra House in Hong Kong. It was the autumn of 2022. This towering building in the Central Business District is renowned for housing many financial institutions and companies. Christie’s occupies over 3,000 square meters in this building, including galleries, auction rooms, and offices.
Gugl often attended auctions organized by major auction houses in Hong Kong, particularly enjoying those at Christie’s and Sotheby’s. He followed a personal ritual for each visit, reserved exclusively for auctions. He always drank a specific type of tea, Da Hong Pao ‘Zheng Yan,’ perhaps because of its rarity and high cost—much like the rare and expensive items offered for auction. Along with this tea ritual, Gugl always paired his traditional Chinese attire with a heavy silk jacket interwoven with subtle golden threads. Security staff, who checked every bidder before they entered the auction room, always recognized him. His distinctive attire and the broad smile on his round, bald head made him hard to miss.
He regularly received notifications about upcoming auctions and details of the lots, which he usually skimmed through. He consistently paid the deposit, though he didn’t attend every auction due to other commitments or travel. Gugl viewed auctions much like those who might enjoy theater or sporting events. He relished the tension and excitement of watching the reactions and actions of wealthy individuals bidding on coveted items.
His favorite auctions were those featuring exclusive vintage wine bottles. Over time, he noticed that the clientele was often the same, depending on the offerings. He also found it fascinating that the highest bids typically came from intermediaries rather than the actual financiers. The entire scene reminded him of the stock market and its brokers. Upon reflection, he realized the comparison was unnecessary, as the trading methods were nearly identical—open phone lines, hands covering mouths to muffle conversations between agents and clients, raised hands with numbers, frantic scribbling on auction forms, and so on.
Starting bids were fixed, and approximate expected prices were often provided. However, in most cases, the final sale prices far exceeded those estimates. The entire process captivated him. Despite the seriousness of the affair, he often smirked as if it were all highly entertaining.
Interestingly, Gugl never desired to own any of the items—a first edition of a rare book, a signed napkin by a famous rock star, or a piece of fine art. Ownership wasn’t his focus. Instead, he was drawn to the people and the procedure—not so much the items themselves but their role in the bidding context. He found joy in the atmosphere of quick decision-making and the transfer of vast sums of money. Sitting on the edge of his seat, he would eagerly bounce with excitement after each auction.
Then, two uniformed workers wearing white cotton gloves entered the room, carefully carrying a large-format painting. They placed it delicately on the auction easel. The moment Gugl saw the painting, he leaped from his seat for a better view—a common practice. His jaw dropped into a wide grin—he recognized himself in the painting. It was his portrait.
He glanced around, but no one seemed to notice him. The painting depicted him wrapped in a colorful scarf billowing in the wind, wearing a leather aviator cap adorned with a red five-pointed star. With his head bent slightly forward, he appeared to be gazing out from the cockpit of an old jet fighter, staring directly at Gugl. The expression on the painted Gugl’s face was one of a mysterious smile; his teeth bared and strangely numerous—more than he had.
The woman of Chinese descent auctioneer briskly introduced the painting in English. Gugl caught the artist’s name: Yue Minjun. Instantly, he put on his glasses, activated them, and obtained basic information about the artist.
Yue Minjun, born in 1962 in Daqing, Heilongjiang Province, China, is renowned for his oil paintings depicting himself in various settings, frozen in a smile. He graduated in fine arts from Peking University in 1989. While his early works were abstract, by the early 1990s, he began creating realistic self-portraits with his signature grin. These works, part of the "Laughing Series," gained immense popularity. Yue Minjun’s art is often interpreted as social commentary on Chinese society. As one of the most prominent contemporary Chinese artists, his work has been displayed in major institutions, including MOMA in New York, Tate Modern in London, the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris, the Mori Art Museum in Tokyo, and the National Museum of Modern Art in Beijing. He resides and works in Beijing.
Gugl was fascinated and astonished. “If this is his self-portrait, then we’re almost identical,” he thought momentarily.
The bidding began. Several hands shot up at the starting price. As the price climbed, fewer bidders remained interested. Only two contenders were left: a Chinese intermediary and a blonde woman speaking on a mobile phone. Gugl stood up again to get a better look at the woman seated in the third row. He could only see her long, blonde hair. “She’s buying the painting for herself—she doesn’t have a phone in her hand,” he observed.
The bidding war between the two lasted a while. The intermediary dropped out at a final price of $6,477,020, and the auctioneer’s hammer sealed the deal for the blonde woman.
Gugl sat with mixed emotions. “What could have motivated this woman to spend so much on this painting? It’s not even that remarkable... The artist, who looks like me, is as unattractive as I am. For that kind of money, she could’ve bought a Warhol, Richter, or De Kooning... I need to learn more about contemporary Chinese art. I know little beyond Ai Weiwei...”
His thoughts were interrupted as the blonde woman stood and walked toward the exit. Now he could see her more clearly—young, stunningly beautiful, tall, and elegant in a fitted black dress, with nearly black sunglasses covering her eyes. She moved gracefully, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Many in the room followed her with their eyes.
“I’ve seen her before, perhaps at Sotheby’s. Yes, that’s right... But she was with an older man then. They were also buying for themselves, without intermediaries,” he recalled.
Gugl rose and followed her. She headed toward Christie’s offices in the hallway while he walked toward the elevators. He watched her until she disappeared through a glass door leading to the office corridor. Moments later, the elevator arrived.
Gugl confides in Maya that Yue Minjun had revealed something strange when he visited him in his studio: his painting, which was auctioned off, had never actually reached its buyer. Intrigued by both the mysterious disappearance and the enigmatic young woman who bought the painting, Gugl uses his business trips and unique skills to investigate this disappearance.
What he uncovers lies far beyond what’s reported in official media or known in the world of high-end art markets. Posing as a potential client, he attempts to infiltrate this unfamiliar society and its hidden layers, with the idea of discovering the mystery of the disappeared painting.
Maya, offering clever insights along the way, gradually becomes part of his search. Together, they conclude: the attempted attack in Paris wasn’t random—it was carried out by the same gang from which Maya escaped.
Eventually, Gugl examines Maya’s small mirror—the only object she has left from her mother—and discovers a hidden location tracker inside. This, they realize, is how Irina and the two operatives were able to find them.
SECOND PART
NOW
A MEETING ON THE PLANE
Geneva Airport isn't enormous, unlike JFK or Frankfurt, yet two passengers race frantically toward their departure gate. A slender girl, around 14 years old, dashes alongside a man resembling a human ball. The girl’s unevenly chopped black hair flies behind her, with two long strands dyed fluorescent green framing her slightly protruding ears. Her well-proportioned face betrays a hint of worry as she sprints in oversized boots over purple fishnet stockings. Thick, gray wool socks peek out from her boots, complementing her short pleated skirt. A cropped purple faux-fur jacket barely covers a black shirt adorned with a vibrant manga print. The fluorescent green backpack on her back completes her appearance, making her look like she just leaped from the pages of a manga or an anime.
Just ahead of her runs the "human ball"—a short, round man with a perpetually cheerful, bald head. His height doesn’t quite match hers, as she towers over him by a full head. Clad in traditional Chinese attire with a folded top and wide-legged trousers, he moves surprisingly fast in his gray, flat-soled slip-ons. A peculiar lambskin coat, oddly tailored, adds a layer of mystery. His age is hard to determine; while youthful in demeanor, he is undoubtedly much older than the girl chasing after him.
As they pass a long line of passengers checking in for a flight to New Zealand, the man discreetly slips a small round mirror into the first traveler’s backpack. Simultaneously, he pulls two passports and boarding passes from his coat while his other hand tugs a small purple rolling suitcase.
Reaching the gate, they’re met by a young attendant who has been radioed to expect them. She scans their boarding passes for flight KL 1930 and waves them through, sealing the gate behind them.
The girl sprints down the ramp, the man hustling after her. A flight attendant greets them with a serious expression, briefly examines their tickets, and directs the girl to business class while pointing the man toward the plane's rear.
The flight attendant lowers her hand, holding the walkie-talkie, and greets them seriously. She checks their tickets. She hands the girl’s ticket to a colleague and gestures to the man, directing him toward the plane's rear. Then, she turns and closes the door behind these last-minute passengers. The plane is ready for takeoff.
He nods at the girl with a satisfied smile and briskly walks toward the crowded cabin’s back rows. Some passengers glance at him indifferently, while a few nod in disapproval. Maintaining a professional smile, the flight attendant leads the girl to the business class section and points to an empty seat next to a polished young woman who is fiddling with her handbag.
“I’m sorry you won’t be sitting with your father, but there aren’t any available seats together,” the flight attendant apologizes.
The girl nods briefly, not understanding what the attendant says. Thin and slight, she turns sideways, effortlessly slipping past her seatmate without needing to make her stand, and flops into the comfortable seat, backpack still on her shoulders. She breathes heavily. The woman discreetly glances at her new neighbor from the corner of her eye. “This girl looks familiar…” The thought is interrupted by the flight attendant’s voice:
“Please fasten your seatbelt. We’re about to take off.”
Following regulations, the girl removes her backpack and places it under the seat in front of her, then fastens her seatbelt. The woman beside her buckles up and sets her bag next to her. The girl, curious, starts flipping through the information catalogs, the airline magazine, and the safety instructions tucked into the seat pocket ahead. She pulls out a small packet with headphones, puts it back, and finally finds a black sleep mask. Pulling the mask over her eyes, she leans back into the soft seat, reclining it slightly for more comfort. She plans to sleep through the flight. A lot has happened recently, and she senses that rest will help her calm down.
In a rush, neither she nor her father had realized that the plane would be stopping in Amsterdam to disembark some passengers and take on others before continuing to New York. She quickly fell asleep, unaware of the landing in Amsterdam and the subsequent takeoff. Her sleep was restless; she tossed and turned, caught somewhere between light dreams and a state of half-consciousness. At one point, she thought she heard the faint tapping of a keyboard.
“Probably the woman next to me typing something. She looks polished, like some businesswoman,” she thought, turning her head away from her seatmate toward the window, attempting to fall back asleep. But the persistent tapping—though soft—kept bothering her. A mix of irritation and curiosity compelled her to lift the edge of her sleep mask and glance toward the woman.
She saw her seatmate from behind, intensely focused on typing into her laptop. Intrigued, the girl’s gaze shifted to the screen, and the words rapidly appeared there: Maya and Gugl barely managed to secure tickets for the flight. They’re headed to New York. Seated apart on the plane, Gugl, ever the gentleman, gives Maya the seat in business class while he takes...
Before she could read more, the captain’s voice boomed through the cabin, followed by the jarring turbulence of the plane.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are entering a severe storm on our flight to New York. The crew and I will do our best to navigate through it safely. Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened, tighten them as much as possible, and stow all loose items under the seat in front of you. Cabin crew, please take your seats and fasten your belts immediately.”
The plane shook more violently with each passing moment, tumbling and tossing as if it were a toy or a model plane in the hands of a child. Frightened passengers exchanged worried glances, their faces etched with fear. Children were crying, and parents were doing their best to comfort them. Some passengers clasped their hands together in prayer.
Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging the cabin into complete darkness. A brief, panicked scream broke the silence as the plane plunged downward like a feather, the situation growing increasingly dire. The girl shut her eyes, trying to think of something positive to distract herself, but her mind refused to cooperate. “If only Gugl were here so we could hold hands—this would be so much easier...” she thought desperately.
At that moment, the woman beside her instinctively grabbed her hand. The woman’s palm was damp, and the girl turned toward her. She could barely make out the woman’s face in the darkness, but she sensed her tears and felt the increasing pressure of her grip. Their physical connection in this dangerous and uncertain situation brought an unexpected sense of comfort. Holding hands made things a little more bearable for the girl and the woman. The moments dragged on, stretching into what felt like an eternity. They clung to each other, each lost in their thoughts, enduring the moment's fear, uncertainty, and fragility.
The storm raged on. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the plane’s interior as the thunderous bolts struck the aircraft, jerking it violently to one side. The girl, gripping the armrest with her free hand, couldn’t help but think about the captain in the cockpit. “It must be so much harder for him than for us. He’s fighting to keep us alive and get us through this storm. I wouldn’t want to be in his place right now...”
After what felt like twenty minutes, the plane began to stabilize. Though it continued to shake, it no longer plummeted uncontrollably. The lights flickered back on, revealing the relieved yet weary faces of the passengers. The girl turned toward the young woman beside her, whose expression was still shocked and fearful. The woman hadn’t released her grip and continued to hold the girl’s hand firmly.
Moments later, the captain’s voice came through the speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, this was the worst storm I have encountered in my thirty-year career as a pilot. Fortunately, we’ve made it through safely, and we’re now continuing our journey to New York. My apologies for the discomfort and anxiety you’ve experienced.”
The cabin erupted into spontaneous applause, a collective gesture of gratitude and respect for the captain and his crew’s professionalism. Moments later, the seatbelt sign turned off, signaling passengers could move freely. The young woman released the girl’s hand and quickly turned to her with an apologetic smile. The girl returned the smile, silently conveying that she understood and that it was okay.
At that moment, a pale-faced flight attendant approached them and asked, “Would you like something to drink?”
Still visibly shaken, the young woman responded politely, “Yes, I’d like some champagne, if possible. I could use it after all this chaos.”
“Of course, I believe it will help you relax,” the flight attendant replied reassuringly before turning to the girl.
“And you, what would you like?”
The girl sat motionless, her gaze fixed ahead. She seemed lost in thought, recalling what she had seen on the woman’s laptop just before the storm began, the lines mentioning Gugl and herself. Her mind was racing. Slowly realizing that the flight attendant was addressing her, she gave a slight nod but didn’t turn to her. Her eyes remained unfocused, and her sleep mask was pushed onto her forehead. “How does this woman know? How does she know we barely made it in time? She doesn’t seem dangerous... But you can never be sure,” she thought.
“Maybe some juice?” the flight attendant suggested patiently.
“Champagne,” the girl replied in a quiet voice, intuitively mimicking the tone and inflection of her seatmate without shifting her gaze.
Realizing the flight attendant was offering them drinks, even though she hadn’t fully understood the words, the girl’s response was deliberate. The flight attendant chuckled softly, slightly puzzled—perhaps by the girl’s age or her uncanny imitation of the woman’s voice—but she nodded and walked away.
The young woman turned to look at the girl, now slightly concerned by her odd tone. She saw the girl staring blankly ahead, her sleep mask still perched on her forehead. The woman, still processing what she had read earlier, quickly turned away, scanning the cabin for any sign of who this unusual girl’s parents might be. “Maybe it’s some new trend among Chinese teenagers?” she mused, her gaze sweeping the other passengers. But no one seemed to be paying attention to them.
Moments later, the flight attendant returned with a tray holding two tall glasses of pale yellow liquid, bubbles gently rising to the surface.
“Here you go. I hope you enjoy it,” she said, carefully placing one glass on the tray table beside the woman’s laptop.
The girl turned to the flight attendant, following her movements as she accepted the offered glass. Then she glanced at the young woman seated beside her. "She’s so young..." she thought again, surprised. "I need to figure out what’s going on here!" she resolved.
The young woman thanked the flight attendant as she walked away. With the glass in her hand, the woman slowly turned toward the girl. The girl studied her intently, thinking, "She has interesting, intelligent eyes... and that slightly long nose suits her." That detail endeared the young woman to her, prompting the girl to smile.
The young woman returned the smile and raised her glass slightly in a casual toast. The girl mirrored her gesture, and their glasses met with a soft clink of high-quality plastic.
“Для нас !”[1] the girl said in Ukrainian, her voice suddenly mature and serious.
The young woman was momentarily taken aback by the Ukrainian toast and the older tone of the girl’s voice. Still, she smiled and replied, “For us!”
They sipped their drinks, each observing the other with quiet curiosity. Finally, the young woman broke the silence.
“When I first tried champagne, about two years ago... Hmm, I’ve been hooked ever since. I don’t drink anything else now,” she said, lowering her gaze to the glass in her hand.
„Я вперше в житті пробую. І так, мені це дуже подобається. Я, мабуть, теж зачеплюся за нього. “[2] The girl didn’t fully understand how to follow the woman’s words but replied with a smile that revealed perfect white teeth.
Still smiling, the young woman set her glass on the tray table beside her laptop and extended her right hand.
“I’m Emma. Emma Neumann,” she introduced herself.
The girl shifted her glass to her left hand and accepted the offered handshake. Emma’s hand was cold and slightly damp.
“Олексій, я радий ,” [3] the girl responded, her tone composed.
Emma froze momentarily, her suspicion confirmed as she recognized the girl.
“But isn’t your name Maya?”
The question startled Maya, but she quickly adapted, playing with this strange interaction.
“Можливо, але невідомим людям я відповідаю Олексію.“[4]
“And where is Gugl? He should be on the plane too! Somewhere in the back...” Emma concluded with a knowing smile.
“Те, як ти почав писати, поки тебе не зупинив шторм. ”[5] Maya replied cryptically in Ukrainian, meeting Ema’s gaze directly.
The two locked eyes and everything became clear. They had encountered one another in the most unexpected circumstances: the writer and the character from her novel, now face to face.
Ema picked up her glass again, raising it slightly. The girl did the same, and they clinked their glasses together once more, this time saying in unison: “For us! Для нас!”
_________
[1] Ukr. "For us."
[2] Ukr. "This is my first time trying it. And yes, I like it very much. I’ll probably get hooked on it too."
[3] Ukr. "Aleksija, nice to meet you.“
[4] Ukr. "Perhaps. But to strangers, I answer as Oleksiy.”
[5] Ukr. "That... how you started typing before the storm stopped you...”