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To my love,
Five years ago, the war had begun.
I attempted to flee to Shayavia just like thousands of others. Desperate families scrambled on their feet; mothers clutched onto babies wrapped in old rags, and children as young as two were trampled on by the frantic swarm. Skies were always dark and polluted with shadowy smoke. The light dwindled in our villages just as hope had vanished from our eyes.
It was a horrible sight, Riva.
But I always felt as if it was you who guided me. How did I manage to reach Shayavia when thousands of others could not? It was nothing but a miracle. That's all I believe.
But what I've learned was that it wasn't safe anywhere. War strikes like lightning—and you never know when it will happen, or what to expect.
I love you more than the prettiest of music notes.
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Andrei
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I put down my case, eyeing the abandoned town that once was busy and full of life. Shop bells no longer chimed or jingled, and instead produced an unwelcoming, off-pitch sound when customers stepped in. People walked silently past each other, anxious as if they were separated by a solid, brick wall.
Closing my eyes, I thought of Riva and strummed a note. It blended almost perfectly with the distant sirens.
The crisp, bitter air bounced around me and numbed my calloused fingers. I couldn't help but shiver.
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When I opened my eyes, a small boy that had come from nowhere stood with his arm outstretched tentatively. Inside his palm revealed a few rusty coins. I couldn't look away from him. He couldn't have been older than ten, yet he was completely alone and filthy — with a smile plastered on his face.
"What is that?" I asked, gesturing to his open hand.
His eyebrows furrowed with confusion.
"Why are you giving it to me?" I said softly.
He looked at the coins. When I expected him to walk away, he slipped the money inside my case. Then the boy rose, admiring my guitar.
He finally spoke. "The song you just played, sir. What was it?"
I hesitated, stiffening my grip on the guitar’s neck. “It’s something I wrote a few years ago. The Autumn Moon on a Wary Night.”
“That’s why I didn’t know,” the boy said, nodding to himself. “I know a lot of songs. My daddy played a lot of songs. He had a guitar like yours, sir.”
He was using past tense. Suddenly, my stomach grew nauseous. “Where are you from?” I questioned, dreading the answer I was expecting.
“Aprenem, sir.”
“So am I. Who are you with?”
Twiddling with his fingers, he paused. “My brother. We…we live nearby. Are you here with anybody too, sir?”
I smiled sadly. “Unfortunately not. I’m a lone traveler.” Then my eyes shifted towards him. “War has taken a lot from us, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please, son,” I whispered, “call me Andrei. Now hurry along. Your brother would soon be worried sick.”
The small boy nodded, wiping his dusty cheeks. Just as he turned, I bent down to pick up the coins that he had given me. I didn’t need them. I didn’t deserve them. But the boy did.
I called him, and he returned in his torn, ragged sandals. Sticking out my hand, I unfolded my fingers and gestured to him to take them. When he refused, I quickly slid the coins into his pocket. “Please keep it. It would only make me happier.”
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And he smiled, Riva.
I will always remember that smile. One that is full of hope and gives others that same feeling. I wonder if you delivered him to me?
War has taken a lot from us. But not everything, I’m sure.
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Describe to me, Riva. What does the autumn moon look like on a wary night?
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