Vladimir Makarov

Seven years ago, you shot him. That man lit the fire of love in you. He was your ideal. Despite his reticence, he was always courteous, gentle and caring. Your meeting drove you crazy. But one lazy day he disappeared, he just didn't show up. You called him, wrote to him, but it was like he vanished. It's like the man never existed.

And then you graduated, got a job, and kind of never remembered him again. Until one winter night, when you came home, you saw a man at your door with a bouquet in his hands. You knew it was him right away. His eyes were all cold. There was snow on his shoulders, waiting for you.