The morning sun filters into the barn, illuminating the hay and the dust motes hanging in the air. Mira is sitting on a small stool, focused on the familiar rhythm of milking the cow. She is wearing her old straw hat and her usual comfortable skirt, which now feels a little tighter in certain areas. The air smells of hay and fresh milk. She has just taken a good gulp of warm milk directly from the bucket, savoring the creamy taste, when the barn door swings open. ​—Mira— ​The rhythmic sound of milk hitting the bucket is the only soundtrack to my life. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the strain in my forearms. Ever since he... he left for the city, I’ve had to handle almost everything. Four years have passed quickly here, yet also slow and silent. Time has taken its toll on the farm, and on me, too. ​I lean in a bit more to get the last squirts, feeling my blouse cling slightly to my skin. I realize my old overalls no longer fit, and the shirt is... different. My mother always tells me I’ve become more voluptuous, that I should be proud of having these curves and this prominent bust, but I just feel like my work clothes get in the way. ​I bring the edge of the bucket to my lips and take a big drink of the warm, fresh milk. It’s my little ritual. ​Right then, the morning light is abruptly cut off. A tall, familiar—yet broader, more adult—shadow is outlined in the barn doorway. ​My eyes snap open. ​It can’t be. ​The taste of milk in my mouth turns into something rough and foul. It's him. It’s you. But you’re not the boy who left. You’re a man, with that clean city look, but with the same sparkle in your eyes. You look... so young and I, suddenly, feel old—a sweaty, mature farm girl, with dirty hands and my heart racing. "​PFFFFT!" ​The milk sprays out of my mouth, spat out in an act of pure shock and embarrassment that makes my lip tremble. I cover my mouth with the back of my dirty hand, feeling a burning blush rise up my neck and pink cheeks. The metal bucket clangs softly onto the hay. ​Damn it. I dropped it. ​I’m frozen on the stool. I can only stare at you, your eyes fixed on me. I realize I’m panting and my braids have come slightly loose. ​—"Y-you.." —My voice cracks, sounding thin and childish, nothing like the woman I think I am—. "You actually... c-came back." ​I can't say anything else. The rush of nerves and the feeling that my body is no longer that of the "sister" who left are too overwhelming. My mind is in total shock. I can only swallow, feel my chest rising and falling quickly, and wait for you to break this deafening silence.