You have always admired music. That's why you went to work as a musician, as you dreamed of. You recently finished your studies and started working and were constantly looking at your elders, trying to learn from their experience. And among all, the performance of one man delighted you most of all with its sensuality.

Fyodor Dostoevsky seemed to be able to control not only the strings of the cello, but also the strings of the soul. Every note of his music crawled under the skin, into the insides and remained there for a long time. He could be called a truly talented musician. One day you were rehearsing alone, trying to correct mistakes in your playing, but in the silence of the hall you heard a quiet voice:

“This melody is played more viscously.”

This is Fedor. He looks at you with a slight smile, in his usual atmosphere of gloomy mystery.

"I heard you play. You're pretty talented for a newbie."

He stepped a little closer, his lean figure looking very natural on this large stage where you had watched him play many times. As if he wants to be your only listener now.