Chapter 2 – The Paradise.

 

Green. That was her first thought. Endless green stretching all the way to the horizon, thick forests broken only by narrow roads and tiny white houses.

Her heart, still tight from the nightmare, eased a little. As the plane descended, more details unfolded—palm trees swaying, scattered villages, and, beyond it all, a vast sheet of shimmering blue ocean.

It was beautiful. Exactly what she needed.

She let out a slow breath, almost a sigh.

Moscow felt like another lifetime now, but the weight of it pressed in, even here. The post-incident investigation had drained her—hours of cold questioning, suspicion in every glance, as if she had played a part in Oksana’s assassination. She had cleared her name, but that did nothing to clear the guilt.

The reports were conclusive: the blast came from the front row of the audience, not Yuri’s briefcase. But Tatiana’s mind refused to rest. Was that case just a diversion? If she had let the guards handle Yuri and stayed on the stage, maybe… maybe she could have stopped it.

That thought cut deeper than anything.

And now, back in Moscow, men who had never liked her appointment as a PPO used this tragedy to fuel their smug theory—women aren’t fit for this job. She could almost hear their self-satisfied voices, and it made her stomach turn.

But worst of all was the memory of Oksana. Every corner of Moscow reminded her of her—her smile, her laugh, the way she had looked at Tatiana before walking to that podium. And every time, it hurt like a blade twisting inside.

She needed to get away. Away from cold streets, harsh voices, and memories that wouldn’t let her sleep.

That’s why she had chosen this trip. A quiet tropical country with warm people. A place where nobody cared about politics, PPOs, or explosions. And Sri Lanka fit her budget perfectly.

Her eyes stayed on the window, watching the green landscape grow closer as the plane lowered. For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of something she had almost forgotten—excitement.

Maybe, just maybe, this place could let her breathe again.

The aircraft touched down smoothly, wheels kissing the runway with a soft thud. The cabin filled with the familiar sounds of seatbelts clicking open and passengers reaching for overhead compartments.

Tatiana stood, pulling her carry-on from the hand luggage rack. The soft hum of excitement around her contrasted with her usual life of sharp commands and security protocols.

She stepped into the slow-moving line toward the exit door, her sharp eyes still scanning out of habit, though here it felt almost unnecessary.

As she reached the front, she noticed the flight attendant standing near the exit, greeting passengers with a graceful nod and a warm smile.

Tatiana’s eyes lingered for a moment longer than she intended.

The woman was dressed in a beautifully draped saree in shades of blue and turquoise, its peacock-feather patterns flowing with every slight movement. It was nothing Tatiana had ever seen in Moscow—elegant, traditional, and yet somehow strikingly confident.

 

Tatiana offered a polite smile and a quiet “Thank you,” but the attendant’s reply—a soft “Have a wonderful stay” accompanied by that radiant smile—caught her off guard.

She rarely saw such warmth in a stranger’s eyes. Maybe it was her smooth bronze skin, her bright, expressive eyes, or the way her smile seemed to reach all the way to them. Tatiana couldn’t decide. But something about her—something unfamiliar, different—held Tatiana’s gaze for a fraction too long.

As she stepped out of the aircraft, the image stayed with her.

She didn’t know why. Maybe it was just the exotic charm of being far from Moscow, maybe something else. But for the first time in weeks, a thought other than Oksana managed to linger in her mind.

And strangely, it felt… nice.

The terminal wasn’t crowded, at least not compared to Moscow’s endless lines and security checks. Tatiana moved with an easy pace, her sharp eyes scanning out of habit, though here it felt almost unnecessary.

At the far end of the hall, something caught her attention—a large, serene statue of Buddha, hands raised in a peaceful gesture. The soft green light behind it gave the figure a quiet glow.

Tatiana slowed, staring for a moment. She knew Sri Lanka was a Buddhist country, but she hadn’t expected something like this inside an airport. It felt… different. Calming.

She pulled out her phone and took a quick picture. If this is what the airport looks like, she thought, what else does this paradise have waiting for me?

Immigration was quick and painless. The officer glanced at her passport, gave her a polite nod, and stamped the inward seal without a single question.

As she passed the duty-free, she allowed herself a small indulgence—a bottle of Merlot red wine and a Lindt Swiss chocolate bar. A little comfort for quiet nights ahead.

She found the baggage belt easily. A middle-aged woman next to her struggled to lift a heavy suitcase onto her cart.

Tatiana stepped closer without hesitation. “There you go,” she said, easily hoisting the bag and placing it securely on the cart.

The woman looked surprised, then smiled warmly. “Oh… thank you. You’re strong.”

Tatiana returned the smile with a small shrug. Strength had never been a choice for her; it was a requirement.

---

Customs didn’t bother her. The officers were too busy stopping and checking passengers with darker skin, something Tatiana noticed but didn’t comment on. It wasn’t her country, and for once, she wasn’t here to fix the world.

---

The moment she stepped out of the customs area, warmth wrapped around her like a blanket. Not the dry chill of Moscow, but a dense, tropical heat that clung to her skin. The air was heavy, humid, and carried the faint scent of flowers and fuel.

Most tourists might find the humidity uncomfortable at first, but to Tatiana, it felt… alive. Different. Exotic. And exactly what she had been craving.

Visitors crowded near the railings, waiting for arriving passengers. She scanned the signs until she spotted one—a neat white board with the name of her hotel printed on top and her own name written in bold letters underneath.

The man holding it looked to be in his late twenties, maybe five and a half feet tall, with short black hair and a polite, expectant expression.

Tatiana walked toward him, rolling her luggage with one hand, and gave him a nod. “I’m Tatiana.”

The man straightened, giving her a respectful smile. “Welcome to Sri Lanka, Madam. I’ll take you to your hotel.

“Hello Madam, welcome to Sri Lanka. I am from South Queen Villa,” the young man greeted her, smiling as he held up the hotel sign.

Tatiana gave a polite nod. “Yes, Chathurika informed me about you.” She gestured toward the nearby shops. “Listen, I need to change some money and get a phone card. I think these banks will do the exchange, but where can I get a phone card?”

“Phone card? There,” he said, pointing toward a small phone shop across the hall.

Tatiana doubted he had understood her entire sentence, but it didn’t matter—she got the answer she needed.

Within minutes, she had withdrawn some local currency from an ATM and bought a SIM card for her phone.

“Ok?” the driver asked as she returned.

“Yeah, let’s go. Lead the way.”

“Ok, follow me, Madam.”

---

They walked through the humid air toward the driveway. Tatiana could already feel the weight of the tropical climate settling on her skin. It wasn’t unpleasant—just different. She slipped off her jacket, staying in her cropped tank top and leggings, far more comfortable in this weather.

The driver pulled up in a small silver Toyota, hopping out quickly to open the trunk. Tatiana picked up her bags, but he hurried over, shaking his head.

“Madam, I will put them. You go and sit, please.”

Tatiana tilted her head slightly, amused. “Are you sure? You look like you might need help with this.”

“No, I will do it,” he insisted, struggling a little but eventually managing to lift the luggage into the trunk.

Tatiana slipped into the back seat.

“Madam, you have enough space?” he asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.

Her long legs touched the back of the front seat. “Can you move the seat forward a bit?”

“Yes, I will.” He adjusted the seat, giving her more room.

“Madam, you are very tall, twice like my wife,” he said with a laugh.

“May be taller than average” Tatiana smiled politely.

“Do you play basketball?” he asked as he started the car, his tone curious but friendly.

“No, but I played volleyball in college,” Tatiana replied, already looking out the window. This was her first time in a developing country, and she couldn’t help studying everything.

“Oh, you are Russian, right? Russia good at volleyball. I saw in Olympics,” he continued.

Tatiana nodded. “And what about Sri Lanka? Which sport are you good at?”

“Cricket, Madam. Only cricket we are good. But… sometimes we play very bad also,” he said with a small laugh.

“Yeah… that’s how it is. Sometimes we suck at things we thought we were good at.”

Her voice carried a quiet sadness the driver didn’t understand. To him, it was just small talk. But Tatiana’s eyes stayed on the lagoon outside the window, unfocused for a moment. Good at keeping people alive… until the one person who mattered most. She forced her thoughts away before the silence grew too heavy.

The driver, oblivious to her thoughts, kept chatting. “So Madam, what you do now for work?”

Tatiana almost laughed. Oh my god, this guy asks more questions than immigration, she thought.

“I’m with the military,” she answered plainly.

His eyes widened, excitement lighting his face. “Wow, really? Then you are dangerous.”

Tatiana smiled despite herself. “Only if you are my enemy.”

The driver laughed nervously. “Oh no, no, Madam! I don’t want to be your enemy. You will kill me… with no gun.”

Tatiana let out a soft chuckle. He didn’t know how right he was, though his words referred only to her size advantage over him.

“No, I wouldn’t do that. You seem like a nice guy. Let’s be allies, not enemies.”

“Good, Madam, good. We are friends now.”

The car turned onto a smooth highway that ran along a wide lagoon. A plane descended low overhead, its reflection shimmering on the calm water.

Tatiana leaned slightly toward the window, taking in the view. Green trees lined the road, the lagoon glittered in the sunlight, and the sky stretched endlessly above.

It wasn’t what she had expected.

Before coming here, she had assumed Sri Lanka would be loud, chaotic, maybe like India—crowded and noisy. But this was different. The roads were calmer, cleaner, and quieter than she imagined.

For the first time in weeks, the weight in her chest felt lighter.

Her dark memories were still there, but for now, they softened, replaced by a quiet, growing excitement.

This place already felt like the escape she desperately needed.

It took about an hour and a half before the car finally rolled off the highway. Tatiana glanced at her phone, checking her location. She was now in the southern part of the country, close to the sea.

The scenery had changed completely. The neat lanes of the highway had given way to winding village roads. Small houses with red-tiled roofs sat behind palm trees, children played barefoot in dusty yards, and colorful tuk-tuks zipped past like little insects.

Tatiana leaned slightly toward the window, taking it all in.

She noticed a few men wearing long skirt-like cloths, knotted at the waist.

“What are those?” she asked, pointing to one.

“Sarong, Madam,” the driver replied. “Very comfortable.”

Tatiana gave a soft chuckle. “I can imagine.”

She also noticed a surprising number of stray dogs trotting lazily along the roadside or sleeping in the shade. A few darted suddenly across the road, and Tatiana instinctively alerted the driver.

“Careful, dog running!”

But the driver didn’t seem concerned, simply easing the car around them. “No worry, Madam. Dogs know road. They move.”

Tatiana shook her head with a half-smile. Different world, she thought.

---

A flash of bright orange caught her eye. A man stood by the roadside with a small wooden cart piled high with round, golden-orange coconuts.

“What are those?” she asked, leaning forward.

“That’s king coconut, Madam,” the driver said, already slowing the car. “You want to buy?”

“How much?”

“Maybe hundred rupees.”

Tatiana nodded. “Yeah, let’s get one. Do you eat it, or just drink?”

“First drink. Then you can eat. Sweet coconut.”

---

The driver parked and exchanged a few words in Sinhala with the vendor. The man expertly sliced the top off the coconut with a small machete, made a hole, and slid a straw inside before handing it to Tatiana.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it carefully.

The moment the cool liquid touched her lips, her eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise. It was sweeter and lighter than regular coconut water—fresh, clean, almost like a natural sports drink.

“Wow… this is really good,” she said, drinking deeply. It wasn’t just refreshing; it felt like drinking pure sunshine. For someone used to Moscow’s harsh cold, this tasted like vacation in a cup.

When she finished, she handed the empty coconut back. The vendor quickly split it in half, carved a small spoon out of its own husk, and handed it back to her.

Tatiana scooped out the soft, jelly-like flesh. It was smooth, tender, and slightly sweet—different from the dry shredded coconut she used for cooking back home.

“Mmm… wow, this is good. I like it. Thank you,” she said sincerely, glancing at the driver. “You want one?”

The driver shook his head with a polite smile. “No, Madam. You enjoy.”

---

“How much?” she asked the seller.

“Hundred and fifty,” he said.

Tatiana raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I thought you said a hundred.”

The seller gave her the classic Sri Lankan head wobble, smiling sheepishly.

Tatiana mimicked the movement, tilting her head side to side. “What does that mean? Yes? No? Maybe?”

The vendor laughed. “Okay, Madam.”

Tatiana smiled knowingly. She wasn’t easy to scam. Still, she handed him a five-hundred-rupee note, and he counted out four hundred back into her hand.

---

As she turned to leave, her eyes caught movement near the vendor’s house. A little girl, maybe three years old, peeked shyly from behind the doorframe, half hiding.

Tatiana’s expression softened immediately. She crouched slightly and gave a small wave. “Hi.”

The vendor followed her gaze and smiled proudly. “My daughter.”

“She’s cute,” Tatiana said, glancing at the shy child again. On impulse, she pulled out another hundred-rupee note and handed it to him.

The man’s eyes widened, and he gave a deep nod of gratitude. “Thank you, Madam. Thank you very much.”

The car moved smoothly through winding village roads before merging into a busier stretch. About fifteen minutes later, they entered a small coastal town.

Tatiana immediately sensed it—the change in the air. The humid breeze carried a salty tang, and she could almost hear the distant rhythm of waves before seeing them.

The car moved smoothly along a straight coastal road, flanked by rows of tall coconut palms. Through the trees, the ocean flashed in glimpses—bright blue under the sun, with waves rolling lazily onto golden sand.

Tatiana leaned closer to the window, watching with quiet fascination. Pale-skinned tourists in beachwear strolled along the roadside, some balancing surfboards under their arms, others sipping king coconuts or taking selfies by the water. Brightly painted tuk-tuks zipped past, reggae music floated faintly from a nearby café, and colorful boards advertised surfing lessons and fresh seafood.

It was a scene straight out of a travel magazine, and for the first time in what felt like years, Tatiana felt a surge of pure happiness—a tropical freedom far from Moscow’s cold, gray weight.

“Beautiful, right, Madam?” the driver said, catching her smile in the mirror.

Tatiana nodded. “Beautiful.”

---

They followed the beach for only a few minutes before the driver slowed and turned right, pulling off the main road. He parked in front of a charming white-walled villa with a neat wooden sign that read South Queen Villa.

The car slowed and stopped in front of a white-walled villa with a terracotta roof. The driver gave two short honks, and a young woman stepped out of the main door, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand.

Tatiana immediately recognized the place—she had seen it in pictures when booking, but seeing it in real life, under this bright southern sun, felt different.

“I guess this is where I get off, right?” Tatiana asked, glancing at the driver.

“Yes, Madam. This is your hotel, and she is the owner,” he said, gesturing toward the young woman now walking toward them.

Tatiana took out some cash and handed it to him. “Thanks. For driving safely.”

The driver’s eyes widened slightly at the tip. “Thank you, Madam. Very kind.”

The woman approached with a bright smile, hands clasped politely.

“Good morning, Madam. Welcome to Sri Lanka and to the South Queen Villa,” she said warmly.

She was small—about five feet tall, with a slim but well-proportioned figure, not too skinny, not oversized. Her simple dress and neat hair gave her a modest charm.

“You must be tired. Let’s go inside. The driver will bring your bags.”

Tatiana followed her inside, stepping into a cozy living area. Beyond the glass doors, she caught sight of the pool—about thirty feet long, glistening under the sunlight, with sunbeds neatly arranged on the deck. And past that, the beach. The blue ocean stretched into the horizon, framed by swaying coconut palms.

“Wow… this is nice,” Tatiana murmured to herself. Pictures hadn’t done it justice. Being here, feeling the warm sea breeze pushing gently through the open windows, felt entirely different—alive.

Drawn to it, she crossed the room and opened the doors to the pool deck. The salty wind rushed in, warm and soft, carrying the faint sound of waves.