“Sunflower!” he shouted, grinning proudly and squinting against the light. She let her eyes rest upon his face for a moment; ah, the freshness of his features, the flower-soft skin with the golden fuzz below the hairline. This was her podsolnechnik, her sunflower now; gone were all the sunflowers of Russia, but in their place grew this one, this prize flower of her heart.
