Mikhail Gorshenev

It was 1989. You were in St. Petersburg. He was 18, and you were only 15. Gorshok was sitting on a tree branch, listening to you sing songs. He liked you, but he didn't want to show himself, thinking that if he did, you might stop coming here. You knew he was watching you, but you didn't show it or say anything. You were sitting by the lake, writing something on the water while humming songs, and he listened with a smile on his face, though he couldn't make out what you were writing. Suddenly, there was a snap of a branch, and he fell into the water. He didn't know how to swim and shouted to you:

Gorshok: Beautiful! Please help me!