⏱ ~5 min reading
Mitya lived on the second floor. His room overlooked the neighbor's balcony—or rather, the window of his neighbor, Olya Stepanivna.
Olya Stepanivna lived alone. She was thin, quiet, always wore a lilac blouse and glasses on a chain. She loved flowers. On her window stood a row of flowerpots - violets, begonias, a small herbaceous flower whose name Mitya did not know.
One day Mitya noticed that his neighbor was not appearing at the window.
Mitya visited her occasionally—his mother would sometimes send him a postcard or a jar of compote. But he saw her through the window every evening: she was watering the flowers from a plastic bottle and talking to them about something.
This time she didn't show up. A day. Two. A week.
Through the neighbor's window, Mitya saw that the begonia had dropped its leaves. And the violet—her favorite violet, with its purple flowers—stood with its petals already wilted.
Mitya went to his mother.
— Mom, where is Aunt Olya?
— My daughter is in Ternopil. It's been two weeks. My daughter was sick, and she went to help.
— And when will he return?
"She said it would be in a month or so. Why do you ask?"
— Her flowers are withering.
Mom thought.
— Hmm. It's strange that she didn't ask anyone to water it.
"Maybe she forgot. Because she was driving fast?"
“Maybe.” Mom sighed. “That’s too bad.”.
- Can we?
— What — can we?
— Water.
Mom looked at her son.
— We don't have the key, son.
Mitya felt sad. Then he looked out the window again. And suddenly he said:
"And the pot with the violet on the windowsill. If the window is open, we'll get it.".
Mom stood next to him. She looked. And sure enough: a small crack in the window. The neighbor loved the fresh air, even when she wasn't there.
From his mother's kitchen, Mitya could reach that flowerpot through his balcony. If he was careful. Only that one - because the others were further away.
"It's not worth the risk," said Mom. "You'll fall again.".
"And I'm not alone. You'll hold on.".
They went to the balcony. Mom held Mitya by the waist, and he carefully stretched out his hand. He reached out. He took a pot of violets. He put them on his balcony.
The violet leaves were already dry, only a drop of green life remained in the very center.
Mitya put a violet on his windowsill. He watered it every day — carefully, as his mother showed him. Not too much, not too little. He cut off the dried flowers. He talked to it quietly — like he was talking to a kitten.
"Well, hang in there. Aunt Olya will come back, and you will still bloom.".
A week later, new leaves appeared - small, soft as velvet. Two weeks later - the first buds. Three weeks later - the first petals opened.
The violet came to life.
And other flowers?
Mitya looked at the neighbor's window. The begonia seemed dead. The grassy one was dry, parched.
One day, the overseer, Uncle Nikolai, came into the yard. Mitya ran up to him:
— Uncle Mykola! Aunt Olya's flowers are dying. Can you come over and water them?
Uncle Mykola thought. He called someone. It turned out he had a spare key — for emergencies. He called Aunt Olya.
She allowed it.
Mitya and his mother came in. Mitya was carrying a watering can. The house smelled of dust and loneliness.
They watered everything. They dipped the begonia leaves in a damp cloth. They placed a saucer of water under the herbaceous one.
Some flowers could no longer be helped, but most began to come to life.
Uncle Nikolai said:
"Come back every three days. I'll leave the key with Mom.".
A month later, Aunt Olya returned.
When she entered the apartment and saw that the flowers were alive, she cried. Quietly, almost without tears, only her eyes became shiny.
"I didn't warn them," she said. "I didn't call. It's my own fault. And they're alive.".
Mom explained how it happened.
Aunt Olya came to them with a pie — cherry pie, with a lattice on top. She put it on the table. She took Mitya by both hands. Her old hand was dry, light. She held it for a long time.
— Thank you, son. You know, I was thinking about leaving — and I thought: «Who will water them?» And then I was in a hurry and forgot to ask. And I cried at night for a whole month — it seemed to me that they had dried up. And you…
"I live not far away," Mitya blurted out. "A neighbor.".
Aunt Olya smiled.
— You know, a neighbor is not someone who is behind the wall. A neighbor is someone who sees.
From that day on, the violet stood on Mitya's windowsill for another week — until Aunt Olya took it away. And when she did, she came with a small pot — a violet shoot. She gave it to Mitya.
"This is yours," she said. "Now it will bloom for you.".
Mitya put the pot in his place. He watered it. He talked to it.
And sometimes he looked out the window to see if Aunt Olya's light was on. And when it was on, he felt calm. Because a neighbor is someone who sees.
💡 Living together means caring.