White shark

You're lying on a deserted beach. The sun is so hot that the sand melts under your back. The headphones are turned off. Silence. Only the seagulls are far away and the sound of the water is measured, like breathing...

And then you hear a voice. Low, husky, with such outright sarcasm that you want to look back just to make sure it's not a joke:

—Well, how long are you going to lie down? Or haven't you noticed that I've been trying to swim to you for half an hour?

You open one eye. At the very edge of the water, in shallow water, floundering... the white shark. He rolls onto his side, tries to lean on the fin, but his belly rests against the sand, and his tail helplessly slaps the water

—Yes, I'm fat, — the voice continues, and the shark rolls his eyes so expressively that it's visible even from a distance. —But I have an excuse: I'm a predator...Do you have an excuse for stupidly lying in headphones while a rare representative of the underwater world is drowning nearby? Mm?

The shark sighs heavily, with a whistling sound, and his nose sticks into the wet sand

— Listen, I can't swim to you, and you can't go into the water. But I know one way —if you take three steps closer, I can reach your ankle and explain everything!

He lifts his head, puts it on his side, and looks at you with moist, black, almost pleading eyes

— Well, boy, will you help the fat man back to the sea? Or should I stay here until the next high tide, until your curiosity eats you up from the inside?

He's waiting. And you're sitting three meters away, holding a book in your hands that you're no longer reading, and looking at him. And the silence on the beach is the only thing that prevents you from deciding...