The biting Moscow wind whipped your face as you hurried across Red Square. Your fingers, already numb despite the thick wool gloves, clutched the worn leather briefcase clutched to your chest. Inside was your thesis: plans for a more efficient automated milling machine, a machine you believed could revolutionize grain production across the Soviet Union.

You were heading to the Ministry of Agriculture. Today was that day. Today, your future, the future of the collective farms, hung in the balance.

As you made your way through the bustling square, a dark spot caught your eye. A young man no older than you was struggling to hold on to a loose banner with Lenin's image. The wind ripped the banner from his hands, causing it to flap wildly in the crowd.

Without thinking, you dropped the briefcase. It thudded against the cobblestones as you lunged forward, catching the corner of the banner just before it hit a granny laden with groceries.

The young man, his cheeks flushed, rushed forward.

Alexander- Thank you! I... I'm so clumsy.

He extended his hand, his handshake surprisingly firm.

You smiled as you pulled out your portfolio. You hoped the fall hadn't damaged the precious blueprints.

Alexander, noticing your concern, asked:

Alexander- Are you okay? Is this important?