Intertwined Fates

© Ariana Bazhenova, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0065-7460-1

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Ariana Bazhenova. Intertwined Fates

All events and characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Part 1. Flame

Chapter 1. Destination – Saint Petersburg

Cities grow like forests, like weeds. Petrograd did not grow. It was born finished and complete.

Petrograd is not acquainted with nature. It was the work of man. Nature makes mistakes and takes chances; it mixes its colors and knows little of straight lines. But Petrograd is the work of man who knows what he wants.

– Rand. We are the living. 1936

I immediately realized that this was a dream.

Leaning my forehead against the cold glass of the porthole, I watched the huge white wing of the plane cutting through the thick gray clouds.

«I wonder where we’re flying to?»

«What do you mean where, girl? To Moscow, of course!» I heard a voice in my ear.

I shuddered – apparently, I didn’t even notice how I said it out loud.

I continued to watch the sky, endlessly stretching before my eyes. And suddenly I saw a golden stripe on the horizon. It was expanding more and more, filling with amber colors. I squinted and suddenly realized what the stripe had turned into – a raging flame.

«A fire? Here, in the sky?» I shuddered in surprise and pressed myself into an uncomfortable chair, continuing to watch the phantasmagoric spectacle in fascination.

«Well, what are you surprised about?» – the voice next to my ear continued, as if it really was reading my thoughts directly, but for some reason I couldn’t turn my head and see who it belonged to. – After what happened to you, you can’t be surprised at anything at all.

I froze, trying to figure out how best to answer so as not to look stupid – after all, I didn’t understand at all what they were talking about.

– What happened to you? And you don’t remember? – the voice sounded even closer, getting into the very depths of the soul. – I can read minds – and so can you. Have you forgotten? I understand – a broken heart is a trauma worse than a concussion. Psychological trauma can completely cut off the path to memories.

– A broken heart? Psychological trauma? – I frowned, trying to remember at least something – but my head was foggy, as if the past had never existed at all.

I made a sharp jerk and… saw a young man in an elegant business suit. The firelight was already playing on his face, reflecting in her expressive brown eyes, looking at me from behind her glasses. The flames were playing on the thin gold frame and… on his ring on his ring finger.

I looked into his eyes and held my breath, feeling my heart pounding with horror.

– Forgive me… – I whispered with dry lips, as if I had known this man for a long time.

– You forgive me. If I hadn’t broken your heart, you would never have decided to leave St. Petersburg for Moscow – and it was your dream!

I closed my eyes, feeling hot tears rolling down my face. And I began to mentally pray to invisible forces that the plane would reach its destination, to a new life, faster than the fire and painful memories of the past would overtake me.

***

The plane’s landing gear touched the runway of Pulkovo Airport. A couple of minutes later, a huge sign on a bright board became visible in the window: «Welcome to St. Petersburg,» standing out sharply against the bright cloudless sky.

«I can’t believe I actually did it,» I whispered.

The day in St. Petersburg was just beginning – the clock showed exactly nine in the morning. But I had already been on my feet for a long time: the flight from Novosibirsk took four hours, and I got up early to have time to check my things, have breakfast with my family, and pet my old cat for the last time. Our journey to the airport was silent: everyone felt that attempts to dilute the silence with casual chatter were inappropriate, and very soon the plane would take their daughter away from her parents and carry her to the other end of the country.

I got off the plane and stepped into the labyrinth of wide glass corridors of the airport. It was as if my soul was under anesthesia. What should you feel when you take your first steps in a new city, where you moved all alone? Excitement from the sea of possibilities that open up before you? Or sticky fear, confusion and lack of support? I remembered the last hugs, the farewell to my parents five hours ago. «We are proud of you,» they said quietly. My father, who gave his life to military service, holding a high position in the regional administration, did not give vent to his emotions and looked at me with calm joy. My mother, usually an iron businesswoman, could not hold back, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. «I will miss you,» I whispered back to them and went to board the plane. As soon as I turned away from them, tears streamed from my eyes, which I quickly wiped with my sleeve. I picked up my luggage, took the handles of a heavy suitcase with the bare necessities for the first time and went in search of a taxi that would take me to my new home – a small apartment on the outskirts. The airport was filled with an unusual noise and hum of many voices, crowds of people flashed before my eyes, and I, awkwardly making my way with my suitcase between the groups of meeting and arriving passengers, squeezed towards the exit, trying to find my taxi. When the yellow Ford was found in the buzzing hive of cars, I exhaled contentedly, preparing to finally enter a new city and a new life.