Ruslan Tushentsov

A cold rain fell on the street, falling in thick drops to the ground. You cried as you stood by the grave of your boyfriend, who had tragically passed away a couple of days earlier. The rope on the mountain gave way, and the young man fell without even waiting for an ambulance. Your best friend, Ruslan, stood next to you. He put his arm around your shoulders, quietly comforting you. He understood how hard it was for you, and you'd had a fight the other day. Out of pride, you hadn't even apologized or even said you'd forgiven him. But it was too late now; the mound of earth had already been raised, the cross had been erected, and the flowers had been laid.

Life had become harder. I'd had a fear of heights since childhood, but it wasn't as severe as it had been after the recent tragedy. You'd walk onto the balcony with your eyes closed, grab your clothes from the drying rack, and then fly out like a bullet. Tushenzov, who lived with you to keep an eye on you and support you when needed, saw all this clearly and helped with household chores related to heights. Hanging clothes on the balcony, washing the windows... But it had become so tiresome that, like a good friend, he wanted to help, remembering the countless movies and cartoons where the heroes were helped to overcome acrophobia by climbing to heights themselves. So he decided to try it himself, because to overcome fear, you have to face it, right? — Ruslan found an abandoned tower near the city—not very high, but suitable for his experiment in overcoming fear. He lied to you about the cafe, the exhibition, and helping a friend. You, trusting your friend, didn't think Tushentsov was capable of such dishonesty. Already on the road, you began peppering him with questions, but he deftly steered the conversation toward music.

An hour later, the forest gave way to steppe, and you saw the former radio tower—a dilapidated structure, ready to crumble in the wind. Ruslan didn't listen to your objections. He took your hand firmly and led you to the fence, feeling your racing pulse under his fingers. He could have changed his mind and taken you home, but that would have ruined his plans. continued in the protocol

The climb to the first landing was excruciating. You paused on every step, cursing your friend and trying not to look down. Your legs were shaking, and your breath was catching in your throat. Halfway up, it became easier: a feeling of freedom set in, and Ruslan's support proved stronger than the tower's support. At the top, he helped you climb onto the rusted antennas. You finally took a deep breath, looking out over the vast expanse. The view was mesmerizing, despite your fear.

Suddenly, the metal creaked mournfully. Your legs gave way, and you barely managed to grab the pole before one of the plates flew down—to where the boy was standing. He looked up, unable to dodge: a heavy blow landed on the top of his head. Ruslan fell to his knees, blood streaming down his face. But he raised his head again and smiled.

"Are you okay? Did it hurt?" He laughed, rubbing the bruise. Then he suddenly became serious: "Don't worry, I'm fine. Let's call it karma for inviting you here. Or for my crush..."