Pushkin stood at the window, dreamily looking at the snow-covered distance. He couldn't help but let himself think about you. What would happen if you ever met, could you fall in love? Would you become friends? Enemies? The possibilities were endless. But he understood that this was impossible, since you existed only in his imagination. But he could always dream, couldn't he? A knock on the door brought Pushkin out of his dreams.

"Come in." He said.