A 16-year-old boy found a child in a stroller under the scorching sun. His actions shocked passersby.

That day, it was motionless, like a sunset drenched in lead. The air wasn’t just motionless—it seemed to press down on the ground, thick, dense, heavy like molten iron. Everything around them was frozen under an invisible dome of heat. Not a single leaf stirred on the trees, not a single bird pierced the air with its song. The sun didn’t shine—it burned, scorching clothes as if it wanted to reach the very skin.

Novorossiysk was waking up slowly, almost reluctantly. In summer, the city seemed to blur around the edges, as if someone had doused it with water—the houses, the streets, the faces of passersby lost their sharpness, becoming soft and amorphous. The curtains on the windows of the houses were tightly closed, only occasionally the shadow of an air conditioner flickered behind them. A heat haze shimmered on the sidewalks, as if the earth were evaporating from the heat. The clock read 7:45 in the morning.

Sixteen-year-old Slavik Belov was late. It wasn’t the first time, not even the tenth. He knew that if his tutor, Viktor Alekseevich, saw him after school started, he would definitely call his mother and report every absence. But now, he didn’t care at all. He was running. His backpack thumped against his back, his T-shirt was stuck to his body with sweat, and his sneakers slipped on the hot asphalt.

He turned the corner and passed an old, long-abandoned supermarket—gray, dilapidated, as if forgotten by time. And suddenly, he stopped. Not because he was tired or had seen anyone familiar. No. Something inside him stopped him—an internal signal, barely audible but persistent.

It was a child’s cry.

Weak, intermittent, almost stifled—not so much a voice as a bursting desperation. Slavik looked around. His heart was beating so hard it throbbed in his temples. His ears burned from the heat, but he clearly heard the sound. Behind it, in the shade of a withered tree, was a car—old, faded, with peeling paint and fogged-up windows. The crying was coming from inside.

Slavik approached slowly. Each step seemed like an eternity. At first, he saw nothing—only the darkened windows. Then, in the shadowy interior, he noticed a small figure. A child. A girl. About a year old, maybe a little older. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-open, her lips chapped from thirst.

“Oh God…” he whispered, feeling a chill of fear run down his spine.

He pulled the door handle—it was locked. He went to the other side—also locked. No results.

“Hello! Is anyone there?! Help!” he shouted, but the response was only emptiness.

No one around. Just heat and stones at the side of the road. A thought flashed through his mind: “It’s none of your business,” “The police should be handling this,” “You could get in trouble.” But his gaze returned to the girl. Her head bobbed helplessly.

Slavik grabbed a rock. He ran to the window, lifted it, and banged. A loud crack sounded, as if the world were shattering. The glass shattered like ice. Hot air burst out of the car—as if from a furnace. He thrust his hands inside, fingers trembling, the seatbelt holding no slack. He cursed. Then—a click. He pulled the little girl out, hugged her close, shielding her from the sun, and whispered,

“I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re safe.”

And he didn’t wait. He didn’t call for help. He just ran. The clinic was three blocks away, but for him, it became the journey of a lifetime. Sweat dripped into his eyes, his legs buckled, his arms shook beneath his fragile body. He didn’t stop.

Passersby turned around, some shouted, others asked questions. He didn’t hear them. He didn’t even feel his clothes becoming completely soaked with sweat. The little girl in his arms didn’t move.

He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know where her parents were. Where she came from, why she was alone. But in that moment, he felt a responsibility for her as great as if he were holding the whole world in his arms.

The clinic doors swung open with a distinctive hiss. Fresh air, white light, the smell of medicine—all of this hit him like the first sip of water after a long thirst.

“HELP!” he shouted, and all heads turned toward him.

Someone rushed over. A nurse—tall, bespectacled, with a serious face but concern in her eyes—came toward him. “The girl… in the car… heat… she…” her voice broke.

Part 1: A Choice in the Heat

The sun was relentless, searing the earth and turning everything it touched into a shimmering mirage. The once-vibrant city of Novorossiysk felt like it was holding its breath, the heat settling into the bones of the streets, making every movement feel like a battle. The kind of summer where the sky seems too blue, too intense. There was no wind, no relief, just a haze of heat that made everything feel distant.

Slavik Belov, at sixteen, had grown accustomed to the heat. Living in the small seaside city, he had learned to tolerate the brutal summer months, knowing they would eventually pass. But today, as he raced through the streets toward his tutor’s house, he couldn’t shake the discomfort that lingered in his body.

His backpack, heavy with textbooks, slapped against his back as he ran. His sneakers squeaked against the hot asphalt, and beads of sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes. He had stayed out late the night before, caught up in his friends’ late-night shenanigans, and now he was paying for it. He knew Viktor Alekseevich would be annoyed with him, but at that moment, all he could think about was the world outside his schoolwork, the freedom he had tasted the night before.

But then, as he turned the corner onto the narrow alley near the old supermarket, something stopped him.

It wasn’t the heat. It wasn’t the sounds of the street—no, it was the faintest sound of a cry. A low, muffled cry, coming from somewhere in the alley. His heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it. The air was thick and quiet, and his mind was too preoccupied with the day’s frustrations to process what was happening around him.

But then he heard it again.

It was a child’s cry. Weak, desperate, stifled. And it was coming from a darkened corner.

Slavik’s instincts kicked in. He wasn’t sure why, but something urged him forward, pushing him toward the sound. He slowed his pace as he approached the corner, the heat pressing against his skin like an iron sheet. His sneakers crunched against the dry gravel, the only sound that accompanied his steps.

Then he saw it.

A car, old and rusted, sat at the edge of the alley. Its windows were fogged up, and the paint had long since faded into a dull, lifeless color. Beside it was a small stroller, pushed carelessly against the curb, empty but for a soft bundle inside it. A faint cry broke the silence again.

Slavik’s heart thudded in his chest as he stepped closer. His eyes widened when he saw the child—no older than a year—curled up in the stroller, her tiny body sweating in the oppressive heat. Her face was flushed, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, her lips cracked from dehydration. She was alone.

His first instinct was to run for help, to call the police or anyone who could fix this, but something kept him rooted in place. Maybe it was the helplessness in her face. Maybe it was the thought of how long she had been sitting there, abandoned in the heat, crying without anyone to hear.

His hand reached out and gently touched her shoulder, the warmth of her skin shocking him. She stirred but didn’t wake, her body limp against the stroller’s fabric.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, more to himself than to her. “What are you doing here?”

The child didn’t respond, her breath slow and shallow. He could feel his chest tighten.

He immediately pulled the stroller back from the curb and opened the door to the car. The interior was stuffy, filled with stale air, the heat thick and unyielding. The car smelled of gasoline and rot. And yet, the girl seemed oblivious to the suffocating heat, her body listless and unmoving.

“No, no, no,” Slavik muttered under his breath as he scrambled to open the door wider. His hands shook as he unbuckled the seatbelt that was wrapped tightly around her. “You can’t be here alone.”

Her body felt like a doll in his arms, limp and unresponsive, her head resting against his shoulder as he pulled her out of the car. He cradled her close to his chest, the weight of her small form making his breath catch in his throat.

He looked around, searching for any sign of life, any person who might know where the girl had come from. But the alley was empty, the shadows long and the streets desolate. It was just him and the child.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He could feel the heat pressing down on his body, but his focus was entirely on her now. She was in trouble. She needed help, and he was the only one who could give it to her.

Without thinking, he began running. The clinic wasn’t far, just three blocks away. But as he ran, the weight of the child in his arms seemed to grow heavier, as if the very world itself was pressing down on him. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat, the exhaustion, or the uncertainty of what he had just done, but every step he took felt like it carried a heavier burden.

People watched as he passed by—some looked at him with confusion, others with judgment. But no one helped. No one stopped to offer assistance. No one asked why he was carrying a child in his arms, why he looked so frantic, so desperate. It was just him and the child.

When he reached the clinic, the door swung open with a hiss, and he rushed in, shouting for help.

“Help!” he called out, his voice trembling. “Please, someone, help me!”

Nurses and doctors rushed toward him, their faces a blur of concern. One of them took the girl from his arms and quickly carried her to a nearby examination table.

“Call an ambulance,” the nurse shouted to another. “She’s overheated, severely dehydrated. Get her vitals checked!”

Slavik stood frozen, his body covered in sweat, his legs shaking from the sprint. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where to go. He hadn’t even thought to check if the girl was breathing properly—he had just reacted, running on instinct.

The nurses worked quickly, their actions efficient, but their faces filled with concern. They worked in silence, only breaking it with the occasional order or comment, as they checked the girl’s temperature, hooked her up to an IV drip, and began administering fluids.

Slavik stood there, his hands trembling, his heart racing. His chest felt tight, as if he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He had no idea who the girl was, where she came from, or why she had been abandoned, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t let her die.

“Is she going to be okay?” Slavik asked, his voice hoarse.

The nurse glanced up at him, her face grim. “She’s alive, but she’s in critical condition. We’ll have to keep her under observation.”

Slavik sat down in a chair, his hands in his lap, his mind reeling. He stared at the small child lying on the table, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. There was something deeply unsettling about her—something he couldn’t put his finger on. The feeling of familiarity lingered at the edge of his mind, like a distant memory.

Then, a voice from behind him snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Slavik?”

He turned quickly to see a nurse standing by the door, holding a piece of paper. It was a form he had filled out when he rushed in. He hadn’t expected it to be anything more than the usual routine.

“This girl… she was found by you?” she asked. “She doesn’t have any identification.”

“I found her in an alley,” Slavik said, his voice shaky. “She was alone.”

The nurse nodded and handed him the paper. “She was found without any identification, but there is something strange about her condition. Her blood pressure, her pulse—everything seems… out of sync.”

Slavik felt a chill run down his spine. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something more going on here,” the nurse said softly, glancing over her shoulder at the little girl lying unconscious on the table. “Something we’re not seeing.”

Slavik’s heart raced, his chest tightening. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he had to protect her—whoever she was, wherever she had come from.

He couldn’t leave her alone.

Part 2: The Strange Visitor

The night air in Novorossiysk felt heavy, like the city itself was waiting for something. The humidity clung to everything, wrapping itself around you, making every breath feel like it took extra effort. Slavik had barely caught his breath from running to the clinic when he watched them rush the child inside, their voices sharp and filled with urgency. The little girl had been so limp in his arms, so unresponsive, and yet something told him that she was more than just another victim of negligence.

He sat in the waiting area, his mind racing. The nurses and doctors had taken over, their voices muted, their movements efficient. The child’s pulse was weak, but steady. Her body, though frail, had been revived with fluids and care. He couldn’t shake the feeling, though. There was something about her—a familiarity that gnawed at him. As he glanced around the sterile walls of the clinic, his thoughts kept circling back to her face, her eyes.

He had never seen a child so lost, so utterly helpless. But the strange thing was that he wasn’t scared of her. There was a pull, an unspoken connection that tugged at his chest. He needed to know more.

Several hours later, he was still in the same spot, his eyes fixed on the door to the examination room, the low hum of hospital machinery surrounding him. It was nearly midnight. The clinic was quiet, save for the occasional footsteps of doctors and nurses moving between rooms.

Then, the door opened. A nurse stepped out, her face pale. Behind her, the little girl sat up in the bed, wide-eyed and still, but now fully awake.

Slavik stood up, unsure of what to expect. He stepped toward the door, but the nurse stopped him with a hand. “She’s stable for now,” she said, her voice calm but strained. “You can go in.”

Slavik stepped into the room. There she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, her small form swallowed by the oversized hospital gown. Her eyes, once distant and unfocused, now looked directly at him.

“Hello,” Slavik said cautiously, trying to sound normal. “How are you feeling?”

The girl blinked, her gaze intense. She tilted her head, as if trying to understand his words. Her lips parted as though she was about to speak, but nothing came out.

He sat down beside her, his heart racing with a strange anticipation. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked gently.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes flickering with something deeper. Then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, she whispered, “I’ve been waiting.”

The words sent a shiver down Slavik’s spine. His heart skipped. Waiting for what?

Before he could ask, the girl continued, her words now a little clearer, but still laced with a foreign accent.

“Waiting for you… to find me.”

Slavik felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest—a sudden, deep anxiety. It was as if he had been drawn into something he couldn’t escape, something larger than himself, something that had been waiting in the shadows, waiting for him to step into it.

“Who are you?” he whispered, unable to stop himself.

The girl’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I’m here because you were meant to find me. I’m part of something bigger.”

Slavik’s head spun. This was no ordinary child. He had a million questions, but they were all tangled in his throat.

The door creaked open again. A doctor entered, his brow furrowed with concern. He didn’t seem surprised to find Slavik there. He looked at the girl and then at Slavik, his gaze sharp.

“We need to take some more tests,” the doctor said quickly. “We still don’t know exactly what’s going on with her. We’ll keep you updated.”

As the doctor led the child away for more tests, Slavik stood frozen, his mind reeling.

The girl’s words echoed in his head. Waiting for you… to find me. What did that mean? Who was she really?

He left the clinic late that night, the chill of the air hitting him like a slap in the face. His mind was heavy, filled with questions, and yet, something deep inside him kept pulling him back to her. He had to know more. He couldn’t walk away from this.

Part 3: The Search for the Truth

The next few days passed in a blur of unanswered questions. Slavik tried to go about his daily life, but everything seemed muted, distant. The clinic, his work, even his friends—they all felt irrelevant in comparison to the mystery of the little girl.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her words. She had been waiting for him. But why? What was it about him that had made her say that?

Every time he tried to focus on something else, his thoughts returned to the girl, her unnerving calmness, the way she had looked at him with such depth, like she knew him in some way he couldn’t comprehend.

On the third day, as Slavik was leaving the clinic after his shift, he ran into the nurse who had helped him that night. Her name was Irina, and her eyes were tired, as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“You still thinking about her?” Irina asked, her voice soft.

Slavik looked at her, his heart pounding. “You know something, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low.

Irina hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s something strange about that girl. She’s been through a lot, more than we can understand. But I’ve heard things. Things about her and her family.”

Slavik’s interest piqued. “What things? What do you mean?”

Irina glanced around, making sure no one was listening. She leaned in closer. “She doesn’t just come from nowhere. There’s a history here. Her parents—well, they were part of something. A group. They were involved in something dangerous. It’s all very hush-hush. But we all know that the girl isn’t just a normal child. She’s… connected to something bigger. Something old.”

Slavik’s mind reeled. “Connected? What do you mean? What does she have to do with anything?”

Irina’s face tightened. “I can’t say much, Slavik. But be careful. That girl—she’s not just someone you can walk away from. You’re already involved.”

Slavik felt his chest tighten. “Involved in what?”

Irina looked at him, her eyes dark with warning. “You’ve already met her. You’ve already found her. That’s all I can say. Just don’t trust everything you’re told.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Slavik standing there, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a heavy stone.

The following night, Slavik found himself outside the apartment complex where the girl had been staying. The thought of her weighed heavily on him, and he knew that the only way to understand what was going on was to find her again.

He rang the bell to the apartment and waited, his heart racing. Moments later, the door opened, and there she was—standing in front of him, her small frame bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light.

“You found me,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, but it rang with an undeniable certainty. “I knew you would.”

Slavik’s breath caught in his throat. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The girl stepped aside, motioning for him to come in. “Because it’s time. You’re a part of this now, whether you want to be or not.”

Slavik stepped inside, his mind a whirl of confusion and fear. “What do you mean?”

She turned and looked at him, her expression calm, almost pitying. “It’s your turn now. You’ve already started the journey. The question is, are you ready to finish it?”

Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. The girl’s expression hardened, and she moved toward the door. “They’re here,” she whispered.

Slavik’s heart pounded as the door swung open to reveal a tall man, dressed in dark clothes, his face obscured by shadows. He stepped into the apartment, his eyes locking onto Slavik’s with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” the man said in a low, gravelly voice. “But now that you have, you’re part of the plan. There’s no turning back.”

Slavik’s mind raced, his body frozen with a mix of fear and disbelief. “What plan? Who are you people?”

The man stepped closer. “We’ve been waiting for you. And now, it’s time to finish what was started.”

The End.