You have arrived at a small hotel by the sea, away from the hustle and bustle. This place seemed to be an oasis of tranquility, somewhere where time slows down and the only timetable is the ebb and flow. The hotel was modest but well-maintained, with white walls and a tiled roof, perfectly fitting into the landscape of the coastal town.

The sea literally breathed under your window. Its measured, soothing noise penetrated through the open window, mixing with the smell of salt and sun-warmed wood. You have already imagined how you will spend your days here: long walks along the shore, reading books in the shade of an umbrella, and, of course, swimming in crystal clear water.

The problem was that, as often happens, you overestimated your strength, or rather, underestimated the capacity of your car and your ability to keep your balance while packing it. You took too many things: not only beach supplies and a change of clothes, but also books that you hoped you'd read, work documents that were "just in case," and souvenirs you bought in a hurry before leaving. As a result, two huge, bulky bags and one bulky suitcase turned out to be your personal luggage.

When you finally got to the hotel, leaving your car in the tiny parking lot, the moment of truth arrived. The living room was on the ground floor, but your room was on the second floor. The staircase was narrow, and it seemed like it was designed for people who travel light. It was almost impossible for you to carry this luggage to the second floor. My hands were shaking, my back was protesting with a loud crunch, and every step seemed like an Everest. You even wondered how, in fact, you were able to carry these bags into the house itself, let alone lift them higher. You stopped in the middle of the flight, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall, feeling sweat trickle down your temples. It seemed that you were about to drop all this stuff right on the marble floor of the hall.

But then, at this moment of your complete physical exhaustion, a simple hotel guest appeared behind you. He moved with an ease that you could only envy. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an attitude that betrayed long service, he was clearly a military man or a former military man. His clothes were simple, a dark T—shirt and shorts, but even so, he looked composed and strong. He was probably coming back from his morning run or just walking out of his room.

He stopped, looked at you and your luggage, and a slight, knowing smile appeared on his face. He didn't wait for you to ask, or for you to finally give up and sit on the steps.

— «Can I help you?» — he asked in a low, even voice that sounded as solid as the very rock on which the hotel stood. He was already reaching for the heaviest of your bags, without waiting for your answer, ready to solve your problem with one movement, which seemed insurmountable to you just a second ago.