Aleksander x Happiness

i.

The boy breathes in and prepares himself for the journey ahead. It was time again
to start a new life in their endless pattern, though start was a bad word for it.
It was time again for them to run.

It was a way of life he had gotten used to, and he did not mind it. The boy was
smart to keep to himself—he did not make any friends, nor did he place sentiment on
trifles he could not take with him.

There was never anything for him to leave behind. The boy convinced himself things
were better such as they were: their life of hiding and running and leaving, always
leaving.

ii.

“Feliks,” his mother called. “Feliks.” She had to repeat the name several more
times before Feliks noticed.

He looked at his mother, almost an apology in his eyes. But she had taught him not
to apologize, so he kept his stare as he answered to his new name. “Yes, madraya?”

“Go to the city and buy us bread and meat,” Varvara—which was the name his mother
would assume for as long as they stayed here—said. They had settled in a small
cottage on the outskirts of the city of Os Rostova, because it was easier to hide
where there were plenty of people; these people were less likely to care about a
mother and her young son, and even if they noticed the strangeness of the small
family, gossip would not spread as quickly.

Feliks took the coin in his mother’s outstretched hand. “Get enough food to last us
for a week.”

———————————————-

Os Rostova, a city in Western Ravka near the Fjerdan border, had a large
marketplace. The shops and booths seemed endless, and it took him a while to find
what he needed. With raw meat and fresh bread in hand, he went on the path to home.
He passed by a small, strange store with many blocks and round shapes, which he
realized were cheese. He went into the shop, because he had bread, and cheese would
be good to have once the bread went stale.

There was a young girl standing at the counter, probably no more than his own age
of sixteen. She had brown hair and a soft, heart-shaped face. There was almost a
glow about her, but something in her face was dark. The girl knew of sorrow.

Feliks turned his gaze away. He would be gone again in a week, maybe a month. He
did not make friends.

He picked up a block of quark and took it to the counter. The girl greeted him with
a warm smile, but he returned it with nothing but a stark stare. The girl’s smile
didn’t falter as he paid, and she thanked him for his purchase.

Feliks ignored the girl. She would not be his friend.

iii.
The next time he entered the cheese shop, the girl was there again, the same soft
expression on her face that made her look light and dark at the same time.

“Hello,” she greeted with a tentative smile. “Are you new to Os Rostova?”

“Yes,” he answered, bringing to the girl the same soft cheese he had gotten last
week. He did not elaborate on his answer further.

“My name is Anatolyanna,” she continued. “What’s yours?”

She was stubborn. Despite his unsociableness, she kept on with her attempts to get
him to speak.

“My name is Feliks.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feliks,” she said, her smile growing wider.

He did not understand what the girl—Anatolyanna—wanted to achieve by talking to

him. But she was the first person who was not his mother to ever look at him with
anything other than disdain or insouciance—and such disdain or insouciance was
often a mask for the fear he inspired in people because of his uncongenial nature
and indisputable otherness.

The ghost of a smile almost made it onto his face, but he took the brown bag of
cheese from the girl and left the shop behind.

iv.

Sometimes Feliks would come to the shop even when he did not need to get cheese,
but he bought the girl’s cheese anyway, because she was small and frail and he
wanted to make sure that she had coin to buy food with. No one could live on
cheese, after all.

———————————————-

As the weeks went by, Feliks lingered at the cheese shop more and more after he had
gotten his bag of quark. He talked with Anatolyanna, and he learned that it was her
father who made all the cheese for the store. They lived above the shop in a small
apartment. Her mother had passed away when she was a little girl, so she tried to
help her father with what she could.

Feliks could not talk about himself, so instead he talked of the places he had
traveled to, even though it was one of his mother’s rules not to tell anyone of
their travels. He told her about Os Kervo, the city on the coast of the Ravkan Sea;
the city of Os Iakova, which was Os Rostova’s neighboring city; the two river
cities, Ryevost and Volgovost; and he told her about Kribirsk, the largest city in
Ravka, larger than even the capital. He told her about Os Alta, which was where
they brought Grisha and those who aided them to face death.

She told him how much she loved Os Rostova. This was where her mother had been born
and raised, just like her. She adored the place, and even though she dreamed of
visiting the rest of Ravka, she would never leave her home for good.

He saw that she was kind and selfless and simple. She wanted nothing beyond the
life she already had and was grateful for it.

———————————————-
“What is it about the cheesemaker’s daughter that absorbs you?” Varvara said,
piercing their quiet breakfast months after they had settled in their new but
temporary home.

Of course his mother had noticed his attention for the girl. He had taken her to Os
Iakova for a day, where they sampled small cakes and candies until they thought
they would burst and sought out little trinkets to take home. There was also no
doubt that his mother had noticed his subtle attempts of delaying the inevitable,
when they had to leave Os Rostova behind. They stayed for nothing and no one.

He put more bread and cheese in his mouth and said nothing in response. The silence
stretched on, and Feliks almost thought that his mother was leaving the subject
alone.

Her next words were a warning, meant to wound—but the truth always did. “She will
die. Before you can blink your eye. You’ll outlive her by a hundred years, maybe a
thousand, maybe more. She’s only dust to you.”

He recognized the words as the exact same ones she had uttered when he had asked
about his father as a child. Back then, he had taken the words to heart. Now he
ignored them.

———————————————-

Anatolyanna had a smile made to heal. Every time she smiled at Feliks, he felt like
he was looking into the sun, all warmth and brightness.

And he let himself be lit up and warmed.

v.

For the first time in his life, Feliks had to leave something—someone—behind. And
it was strange, because he did not know how to leave anything behind. He knew of
leaving, but never to leave without something he wanted to keep.

He had thought about going away without speaking to Anatolyanna, because it would
be better for her if he disappeared without any promise to return. Yet Feliks,
selfish as he was…

They were walking down the shore of the vast Ravkan Sea, hand in hand. He looked at
her small feet as they walked and noticed how even her gait was serene and
unassuming. Then he looked out at the setting sun, painting the sky a furious red
orange and a gentle pink. And he knew that he could no longer delay telling her
about his imminent departure.

“Anatolyanna,” he called gently, squeezing her hand.

She turned to him, smiling her smile that was as blinding as the sun behind her.

Suddenly, he realized that he was about to break her heart, and he wished with his
entire being that he did not have to do so.

“I have to leave,” he said, barbed words spoken softly.

She looked at him in surprise, hazel eyes full of questions. “I thought we were
staying for the night.”
“Yes, we are,” he affirmed. “I meant that once we go back to Os Rostova, I will
leave.”

She pulled her hand back and frowned. She turned to face the waves, crossing her
arms across her chest. He watched as she stared at the sunset, a tear rolling down
her cheek.

“I knew you could never stay,” she said, voice cracking. “But I still hoped you
would. How foolish I am.”
He wanted to tell her not to waste her tears on him, that he was far more foolish
than she, that he didn’t want to leave. But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

She faced him again, touching a warm hand to his cheek. “Promise me that you won’t
forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” he whispered. “Not if I live a thousand years.”

She leaned into him, closing the distance between their lips. He let her get lost
in the kiss, because he could leave her with this—memories of a fiery sunset and
soft lips and hot sand beneath her feet.

“Where will you go?” she asked breathlessly after they pulled away.

He did not answer. He didn’t want to make up any more lies for her. Instead, he
gave her his name, because it was the only truth he could give her.

“If you ever come back… you’ll know where to find me, Aleksander,” she whispered.
She walked away from him to the edge of the shore, letting the water lap at her
toes and her white dress get blown in the wind.

vi.

It took him six years before his resolve crumbled and he went back to Os Rostova.
He found her in the same tiny, run-down home she had lived in with her father, but
in the store, there was no cheese to fill the shelves.

When she opened the door and found him standing there, she had burst into loud,
racking sobs. She hugged him as tight as her tiny frame could manage, and he hugged
her back, wishing it could put her back together. And he wanted to find it,
whatever had broken her like this, and make it suffer as she had.

She looked like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was even
thinner than before, and her eyes that had been so full of light looked
extinguished. She told him that her father had been executed with the charge of
helping Grisha. He had let a Heartrender spend the night in their home to wait out
a vicious hurricane, and when the Heartrender left, he stole a loaf of bread from
the bakery next to their store.

Something inside him stirred, and the words written upon his heart to make a haven
for Grisha rose anew. He promised himself again that he would end the injustice for
those who were forced to beg and surrender because of the power they yielded when
he knew they could rule the world instead.

And it was for that reason that he left her again, telling her that he would come
back, but not before he had changed Ravka.

vii.

More than a decade passed.

He came back to her as a general, the first Grisha to lead the King’s Army. He
wished he could tell her, to see if she would be proud, but Grisha were still seen
as dangerous and he would not risk her life for his own petty hankering.

“Aleksander?” she asked in awe. He gave her a rare smile, one that would remind her
of sweet treats and fleeting kisses and the foam of the tide chasing her as she
ran.

“Oh, Aleksander!” Her smile that was as bright as the sun was back, and he felt
warm again, like she was filling up the empty holes in his heart. And he realized
that the tightness in his chest that he hadn’t noticed was there until it was
unraveling inside of him was because he had missed her.

She ushered him into the house and immediately, he saw the changes. The shelves
were gone. The creaky floorboards had been replaced with cherrywood, and the
furniture was simple but elegant. The colors of the walls were soft, and the
sunlight streaming in from the windows made the house look cheerful. It was a home
built upon tenderness.

He sat by a table next to a large open window as Anatolyanna disappeared into the
kitchen. A few minutes later, she came back with a tray of tea and plain sugar
cookies.