ᴍɪʟᴀ ᴅᴇᴍᴄʜᴜᴋ, a daring and courageous Ukrainian girl, faces the challenges of survival in her homeland, where female artists are rare.
When her friend Leo embarks on a journey to search for his lost love, Alexandra La Rossa, Mila seizes the chance...
The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains of Mila's room as she admired the new clothes Irina had bought for her. The dress was simple but elegant, with a rich blue-purple fabric that flowed gently down to her ankles. She turned in front of the mirror, feeling like a different person—someone more refined, more worldly. She could hardly believe she was still the same girl who had left Ukraine with nothing but her paints and a dream.
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With a deep breath, Mila stepped out of her room and made her way downstairs to where Irina and the others were waiting for breakfast. When she entered the dining room, all eyes turned toward her. Leo gave her an approving nod, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, while Irina's father, Mr. Antonovas, raised his glass in admiration.
"You look lovely, Mila," he said warmly. "Irina has quite the eye for fashion."
Mila blushed slightly, offering a polite smile. "Thank you. I've never worn anything like this before."
Irina clapped her hands together, clearly pleased. "See? I told you it would suit you perfectly!"
The atmosphere was light, and Mila felt a sense of belonging that she hadn't expected. As they sat down to eat, she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to fit in here. After breakfast, she decided it was time to share something personal with Irina.
"Can I show you something?" Mila asked, her voice hesitant as they sat together in the drawing room.
Irina looked curious. "Of course. What is it?"
Mila pulled out her sketchbook, her fingers brushing over the worn cover before opening it to reveal pages filled with her drawings—scenes of the Ukrainian countryside, sketches of people she had met, and some more personal pieces that captured her emotions during her journey. She flipped through the pages, her heart swelling with pride. Art was her way of expressing herself, her way of making sense of the world.
Irina's eyes scanned the sketches, and for a moment, she said nothing. Mila held her breath, waiting for some kind of praise or admiration. But instead, Irina's expression turned thoughtful—almost indifferent.
"You're very talented," Irina said slowly, but there was something off in her tone. "But... well, do you really think art is something a woman should be doing?"
Mila's heart sank. "What do you mean?"
Irina shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "I just think there are better ways for women to make their mark in the world. Marrying well, gaining influence, rising in status—that's what's important. Art is nice, but it doesn't get you anywhere."
Mila's fingers tightened around the edges of her sketchbook. It was like a punch to the gut. She had expected Irina to appreciate her passion, but instead, she was faced with the same tired beliefs she had heard back in Ukraine. The idea that a woman's only worth was in marriage and status. The very thing she had wanted to escape.
"I don't agree," Mila said quietly, her voice firm. "Art is everything to me. It's a way of showing who I am, what I feel. It's more than just a hobby."
Irina raised an eyebrow. "But what does it get you? It's not like people are going to pay you for it or give you a title because of it. You could marry well and live a comfortable life, Mila. Why struggle with something that won't bring you real success?"
Mila shook her head, feeling a surge of frustration. "That's exactly why I left Ukraine, Irina. I don't want to be defined by who I marry or how much power I have. I want to make something of myself, not because of my name or who I'm with, but because of my own abilities. Art is my way of doing that."
Irina stared at her for a moment before sighing. "Well, I suppose we're different in that way. But I still think you should focus on more practical things."
Mila pressed her lips together, deciding not to argue further. It was clear they would never see eye to eye on this. She closed her sketchbook, a sense of disappointment settling over her. She had hoped Irina would understand, but it seemed like no matter where she went, there would always be people who didn't believe in a woman's right to choose her own path.
As she left the room, Mila made a quiet vow to herself. She would never let anyone, not even someone as kind as Irina, dictate what she should do with her life. She had dreams of her own, and she wasn't about to let anyone tell her they weren't worth pursuing.
