CMH (Ruslan Tushchentsov)

Your Ruslan is a media personality, a singer, a blogger, and for you, simply the most wonderful person in the world. His smile is like the first ray of sunshine after a long night, his voice a melody that drowns all your worries. You loved each other immensely, unconditionally, without looking back. In his arms, you found peace, and in your eyes, he drew strength. You were each other's support in this crazy world, where fame means not only applause but also sharp thorns.

But media exposure has its downside—a cruel, merciless one. Fans whose love borders on obsession, haters who spew venom in every comment. Ruslan had long since grown tired of this and deleted TikTok, deciding he no longer wanted to expose his heart to attacks. But his friends persuaded him to return. "You're an artist, the audience is waiting! "

And here it is—a new video. And again, like a curse, a torrent of malice: "Crazy Mega Fat," "Oh, Salty," "Tartlet Syndrome." Harsh, meaningless words, like knives piercing the most vulnerable. Ruslan sat, silently sliding his finger across the screen, and with each line his shoulders sagged lower. And then—a treacherous moisture on his eyelashes. Did he deserve this? Was he to blame for the way he was born?

You walked into the room and froze. He was hunched over, facing the window, but you could see his fingers shaking and a tear rolling down his cheek. He didn't want you to see him like this. He didn't want to show his pain.