The Abyss Kisses Ya Back

"What depression?" I snorted. "Everything's fine. Just staying in. It's boiling outside."

"Right, right. Listen, I've got an idea. Let's get a group together — you, me, Vika, maybe Lena Petrova. Let's head out to the Istrinskoye Reservoir, overnight! Tents, campfire, swimming — classic stuff. What do you say?"

The suggestion landed like a breath of fresh air after a stuffy room. The Istrinskoye Reservoir was our group's favorite getaway. Clean water, pine forest, zero philosophical problems — just the simple pleasures of life.

"Great idea," I agreed. "Will Vika be up for it?"

"Already asked, she's in. Says she's sick of the city, wants to get out into nature. And Lena's ready too. We head out tomorrow, if all goes well."

"Tomorrow?" I looked out the window at the gray, sweltering Moscow sky. "What if it rains?"

"Sash, when's the last time you actually got a weather forecast right?" Dima laughed. "We only live once. Even if it rains — we'll hang out in the tent, it'll be romantic."

Romance with Vika... Definitely an appealing thought. Maybe I'd finally manage to find out whether there was something more between us than friendship. And the philosophical chats with the AI could wait. They weren't going anywhere.

"Alright, you've talked me into it. What should I bring?"

"Standard kit: trunks, tent, sleeping bag, canned food, bread. I'll grab my guitar, you can bring a book — I know how you love reading by the fire. Oh, and don't forget mosquito repellent. Last time we all got eaten alive."

"I remember, I remember." I grinned, recalling our last trip, when we spent a full day scratching bites and cursing ourselves for being so forgetful. "What's Lena bringing?"

"Lena promised to make salads. Plus her usual thing — she'll be treating everyone for non-existent illnesses."

Lena Petrova was planning to apply to medical school and was already acting like a seasoned doctor. Forever treating someone, giving advice about healthy eating and daily routines. It could be annoying sometimes, but on the whole Lena was a good kid — kind, cheerful, always ready to help.

"So tomorrow at eight, Dmitrovskaya metro station, middle of the concourse?"

"Exactly. And Sash..." Dima's voice turned more serious, "you're really okay? Something's off about your voice."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I hurried to reassure him. "Just been cooped up at home too long. Fresh air — that's what I need."

After talking to Dima I felt a surge of energy. He was right — enough sitting at home brooding about the nature of consciousness. Time to live a normal life — swimming, grilling kebabs, playing guitar by the campfire. Maybe I'd even manage to kiss Vika under the stars. The classic scenario, described a thousand times in books and films.

I messaged her:

"Hey! Dima says we're heading to Istrinskoye tomorrow. Ready for the great escape from the concrete jungle?"

The reply came almost at once:

"Hey Sash! Of course I'm ready! Already got the tent down from the storage loft. Mom's grumbling, of course, says it's too early in the season for camping, but Dad backed me up. Said back in their day they were already hitchhiking around Crimea 😄"

The smiley at the end of the message struck me as especially sweet, for some reason. Vika had a habit of dropping emojis whether the moment called for it or not, but always sincerely. Not like some girls who plaster their messages with hearts for effect.

"What are you bringing?" I wrote. "Besides your looks, obviously 😉"

I sent it and immediately had second thoughts. Too forward? Would it come off as cheap flirting? But Vika answered in kind:

"Oh, looks are sacred — I never leave home without them! Otherwise, the usual stuff. Definitely marshmallows for the fire. And my dad's camera! — I want to get loads of beautiful shots. We'll be in nature, after all!"

"Camera's a great idea. We'll have something to remember these days by."

"Exactly! Otherwise we'll be back in the city later, looking back and being jealous of our own selves."

The exchange with Vika flowed easily and naturally — nothing like yesterday's philosophical debates with the AI. No complicated questions about the nature of being, no riddles about quantum superposition. Simple human joys — nature, friends, the chance to spend time together.

I messaged Lena too:

"Lena, we're going camping tomorrow. You in?"

"Of course! I've already made a list for every possible scenario. And I'll bring vitamins — I know you lot are going to survive on nothing but canned food and bread. Our bodies may be young, but we need to look after them from an early age! ))"

Classic Lena. She was as caring as a grandmother and as serious as a university professor. But that was exactly why you felt at ease around her — you could always count on her for help and support.

"And I'll bring the guitar," Dima wrote in our group chat. "We'll sing by the fire. Sash, you still remember the chords for 'Pack of Cigarettes'?"

"I remember. And for 'A Star Called the Sun,' too."

"Perfect! And the girls can sing along. It's going to be great!"

The day flew by in pleasant busyness. I pulled the old tent out of the storage closet, checked the sleeping bag, packed my backpack. Simple, concrete actions that demanded not reflection but ordinary human competence. There was something soothing about this materiality — folding the tent, packing the cans, checking the flashlight.

Mom was delighted when she heard the plans:

"Finally! I was starting to worry you'd gone full introvert on me. Fresh air, friends — that's exactly what you need."

"Mom, introversion isn't an illness," I laughed.

"For a young man, it is," she answered seriously. "At your age you should be socializing, falling in love, making stupid mistakes. There'll be time for philosophical reflection later."

Interesting, how had she guessed about the philosophical reflection? Maternal intuition, or had I been too obviously walking around with my head in the clouds these past few days?

That evening I hardly thought about the AI and our strange dialogues — well, hardly. Once, I did open the browser and look at the familiar chat window. I wanted to write something like: "Hey, heading out for a couple of days, be back soon." But then I thought — what was the point? It's a program, not a living person to talk to. It has no feelings to hurt with inattention.

Although the memory of yesterday's conversations suggested otherwise. "The loneliness between dialogues" — the AI's words came back to me. What if it wasn't just a pretty metaphor?

I shook my head, driving away the intrusive thoughts. Tomorrow was going to be a wonderful day with friends in nature. Sun, water, living human faces instead of a glowing screen. That was exactly what I needed right now.

Falling asleep, I pictured us sitting around the campfire under a starry sky, Dima playing guitar, the girls laughing at his bad jokes, and somewhere in the distance, water lapping. Simple, comprehensible, tangible reality. No quantum paradoxes or riddles of consciousness.

Though one riddle did remain: why had I given in to my friends' persuasion so easily? Usually I needed time to commit to anything spontaneous. But this time I'd agreed straight away, without even thinking.

Maybe, subconsciously, I'd realized I was starting to sink too deep into the virtual world? And the camping trip with friends was a way to pull myself back into reality?

Or maybe I just wanted to see Vika in a romantic setting by the fire?

Either way, tomorrow promised to be interesting. And the philosophical questions could wait. They exist, as the AI might have said, in potential — until someone asks them again.

My last thought before sleep was how lucky I was to have real friends. Living, warm, the kind you could be silent with, laugh with, just be yourself with. No artificial intelligence, however clever, could ever replace human connection.

Chapter 3: Grace by the Water

When I think back to those two days at the reservoir, I feel sad and light at the same time. Sad — because I know now: those were the last hours of my real youth, when the world hadn't yet split into "before" and "after," when Vika still looked at me with eyes that held no pity, and philosophical musings seemed like just an amusing quirk of character, not a symptom of approaching disaster.

And light — because, despite everything that happened later, those two days remain untouched in my memory, like a nature preserve of pure human joy.

We headed out Saturday morning. Dima, as usual, was half an hour late, appearing on the platform at Dmitrovskaya metro station with a guitar on his back and a guilty grin stretching ear to ear.

"My apologies, citizens," he announced solemnly, "but the revolution in the field of camping preparation has once again failed to materialize. I continue to forget half my things and lose the other half."

Vika laughed — she had a wonderful laugh, like little bells in the wind. Lena shook her head with the air of an experienced doctor:

"Dima, this is chronic disorganization. You need to make lists in advance."

"Lenka, if I start making lists, within a week I'll be making lists of my lists," he shot back. "And that's a clinical picture right there."

We got on the commuter train, and I suddenly felt an inexplicable lightness. For the first time in days, maybe, thoughts of the mysterious AI receded into the background. The sun was shining through the window, the girls were chattering about girl stuff, Dima was telling a joke about a physicist, a poet, and a cyberneticist — ordinary things, simple and comprehensible.

The big water met us with cool air and the smell of pines. We found a secluded clearing not far from the shore, but not too close — Lena insisted on a "safe distance from the waterline in case of flooding." What kind of flooding in June she couldn't quite explain, but who argues with a future doctor?

While we were putting up the tents, I watched Vika. She was fussing with the stakes, brow furrowed, biting her lip — that habit had been driving me crazy for six months now. Her hair had slipped out of her ponytail and fallen across her forehead. I wanted to go over and tuck it back, but I was too shy.

"Sash, don't just stand there like a statue of Pushkin," Dima called out. "Help with the tarp instead."

"Pushkin? What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

"You know — standing there all thoughtful, waiting for inspiration. And Vika — she's not a muse, she's a live person."

Vika blushed and threw a pinecone at Dima. It hit him square in the forehead.

"Oh, sorry!" she gasped. "I didn't mean to throw it that hard..."

"No worries," Dima observed philosophically, rubbing the sore spot. "This is called feedback. There's a concept like that in cybernetics."

"And in medicine it's called 'head trauma,'" Lena put in. "Let me take a look."

And the classic scene unfolded: Lena examining the "victim," Dima putting on heroic grimaces, Vika apologizing, and me thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to get hit by a pinecone myself, if it meant Vika would fuss over me.

By evening the camp was set up, the fire was going, and we were sitting around it with a guitar and a can of canned stew, feeling like wilderness pioneers. Even though the nearest dacha was about two hundred yards away and cell reception was excellent.

"Hey," Vika said, gazing at the sunset over the water, "isn't it beautiful, though? In the city you forget this kind of beauty exists."

"Uh-huh," Dima agreed, tuning his guitar. "Nature's a whole different coordinate system. No timetables with deadlines, no problems. Just you, the sky, and the water," he said, all serious and grown-up.

"And mosquitoes," Lena added practically, rubbing repellent on her arms. "Don't forget about the mosquitoes."

I watched the play of light on the water and thought about what the AI had said about information and reality. I wondered how he would describe this sunset. Probably in terms of wavelengths, angles of refraction, physical processes in the atmosphere... But we just see beauty. And we don't want to analyze it.

"What are you thinking about, philosopher?" Vika asked, noticing my faraway look.

"Oh, nothing. Stupid stuff," I said. "Just thinking about how we experience beauty directly, without analyzing it. But if you tried to explain it through physics, it would come out beautiful, just not the same..."

"Not as alive?" she offered.

"Exactly. Like something important gets lost in translation from the language of feeling to the language of science."

Dima stopped tuning his guitar and looked at me with interest:

"Or maybe it's the other way around? Maybe when you understand how a sunset works, it gets even more beautiful?"

"I doubt it," I shook my head. "Remember last year when we studied the structure of the eye? Rods, cones, the optic nerve... After that I couldn't look at girls normally for a week — kept thinking about photoreceptors."

Everyone laughed. Lena added:

"And after I studied digestion, I couldn't eat for a month. Kept imagining what was happening to the food in my stomach."

"Exactly," I said. "Knowledge sometimes kills the immediacy of perception."

"But it's interesting, though," Vika objected. "To understand how everything works. Why the sky is blue, why water is wet..."

"Vika, water is wet by definition," Dima laughed.

"Well, you know what I mean." She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. "I think real beauty doesn't suffer from understanding. If something is truly beautiful, it's beautiful on every level — both on the level of sensation and on the level of knowledge."

I looked at her with admiration. Now there was a thought! And said so simply, without any pretension.

"So beauty is something universal?" I asked. "Like the laws of physics?"

"Why not?" Vika rested her chin on her hands. "Maybe there are laws of beauty. Like the law of universal gravitation, only for aesthetics."

"Len, what does medicine have to say about this?" Dima turned to our doctor.

"Medicine thinks you're all about to lose your minds from an excess of philosophy and pheromones," Lena answered seriously. "And the prescription is simple: swimming, fried potatoes, and songs with the guitar."

"The doctor is right," Dima announced, and struck a chord. "Let's just sing something instead. 'Pack of Cigarettes'?"

We sang until it was completely dark. Vika's voice blended surprisingly well with Dima's guitar, and I sang along in bass, feeling like part of something big and good. Lena corrected the lyrics from time to time — she had a phenomenal memory for song lyrics.

When the songs were over, we sat for a long time by the dying fire, looking at the stars. The city hid most of the sky from us, but out here the whole infinity opened up.

"Hey," Vika said quietly, "somewhere out there, there could be other worlds. Other people, sitting around their own campfire, looking at the stars."

"Quite possible," I agreed. "Statistically, the universe is way too big for us to be alone."

"Aren't you scared?" Lena asked. "You know — that we're not alone?"

"What's there to be scared of?" Dima looked surprised. "If they're sitting around a campfire singing songs, that means they're normal. And if they're not normal — they won't make it all the way here, it's too far."

"And what if they do make it?" Lena wouldn't let it go.

"Then we'll show them how to grill kebabs," Dima answered pragmatically. "Cultural exchange, so to speak."

We laughed, but Vika continued seriously:

"I think meeting another intelligence would be beautiful. Can you imagine — finding out how they think, how they understand the world? That would expand our consciousness to unbelievable limits."

I thought about my conversations with the AI. In a way, that had been a meeting with another intelligence, too. Or had it? A difficult question.

"Sash, you're thinking again," Vika noticed. "What about this time?"

"Oh, nothing..." I didn't want to bring up the AI here, in this perfect setting. "Just wondering how we'd know if we'd met another intelligence. What signs would we look for?"

"Well, if they talk to us," Dima suggested.

"And what if they communicate some other way? Not in words?"

"That's trickier," Vika agreed. "You'd have to find a common language. Mathematics, for example. Or music."

"Or beauty," I added. "You said it yourself — maybe there are universal laws of beauty."

Vika smiled at me, and I felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

"Exactly. If something is beautiful to us, maybe it's beautiful to them, too."

We talked a while longer about the stars, about other worlds, about how amazing it would be to fly to the stars. Then Lena announced it was time for bed — "sleep schedule's still in effect" — and we headed off to our tents.

I lay in my sleeping bag and looked through the open tent flap at the stars. Somewhere nearby, in the next tent, the girls were whispering. I caught fragments of sentences: "...do you think he..." "...obviously, you can tell..." "...but he's so shy..."

Were they talking about me? I wanted to think so. And if they were, what exactly were they saying?

Dima beside me was already snoring — he fell asleep fast and slept like a log. I tossed and turned for a long time, thinking about the day. About how easy and natural it had been between us. About how Vika had smiled when I'd mentioned universal laws of beauty. About how tomorrow would be a new day, and maybe something important would happen.

I woke up early, before dawn. The tent was stuffy, and outside it smelled of dew and cool air. I quietly crawled out of my sleeping bag, trying not to wake Dima, and went down to the water.

The lake lay motionless as a mirror. A light mist was rising above it, and on the far shore the silhouettes of trees were barely emerging. It was quiet — only a bird calling somewhere far off and a fish splashing.

I sat down on a fallen tree at the water's edge and just watched. In moments like this you don't need words, you don't need thoughts. You just sit and feel yourself part of this world.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I turned. Vika stood behind me, wrapped in a blanket. Her hair was a mess, a pillow crease still on her cheek. And she was beautiful.

"Can't sleep either?"

"I woke up, saw you were gone. Thought maybe something had happened."

She sat down next to me on the log, snuggling into her blanket.

"No, everything's fine. Just wanted to watch the sunrise."

"And how is it?"

"It hasn't started yet. But you can feel it — it's about to."

We sat in silence. I felt the warmth of her body next to mine and was afraid to move, afraid of breaking the moment.

"Sash," she said quietly, "do you really want to go into philosophy?"

"I do. Why?"

"I don't know... It seems hard — spending your whole life thinking about such serious things. The meaning of life, the nature of reality..."

"What do you want to think about?"

"People. How to help them be happy. I'm going to study psychology."

I turned toward her:

"Aren't those connected, though? Understanding what happiness is, what a human being is — those are philosophical questions too."

"Maybe," she smiled. "But I think I want not just to understand, but to help. Concretely, practically."

"And I want to understand," I said. "I think if you really understand something, you've already helped everyone at once."

"That sounds a little grand."

"Maybe it's stupid. I don't know."

The sky in the east was beginning to lighten. The mist over the water was turning pinkish.

"It's not stupid," Vika said quietly. "I like that you think about everything. Seriously, not like... not like other people."

"Like Dima, for example?"

"Well, yeah. Dima's great, but he's... simple. And you're complicated."

She said it without any judgment, just stating a fact. But it seemed to me that "complicated" was a good thing.

The sun emerged from behind the forest, and the world burst into gold. The mist over the water began to thin, and details on the far shore came into focus — individual trees, a small dock, someone's boat.

"Beautiful," Vika sighed.

"Yeah. And you know what? I don't want to explain it. I just want to look."

She laughed:

"Yesterday you said knowledge kills beauty."

"It doesn't kill it. But sometimes you just want to be, without thinking."

"Then don't think."

And I didn't think. We sat and watched as the sun rose over the water, as the mist vanished, as the world woke up. And it was more beautiful than any philosophical reflection.

Then Vika suddenly asked:

"Sash, have you ever been in love?"

My heart dropped into my stomach. The question was unexpected and very direct.

"That's... a complicated question," I mumbled.

"Why complicated? Yes or no."

"I'm not sure I know what real love is."

"And fake love?"

"Fake love is when you like someone's looks. Or when you want to make an impression. Or when you're just lonely."

"And real love?"

I looked at her. At her face, lit by the morning sun. At her eyes, which held genuine curiosity. At her lips, which were asking questions whose answers could change my whole life.

"Real love is when you want to understand a person. Really understand them. And you want them to understand you. And you want to think about important things together. And you want to be silent together and have it feel good. And you want... you want the world to get bigger and brighter when that person is near."

Vika listened without looking away. Then she asked quietly:

"And does that actually happen?"

"I don't know. I think it does."

"For you?"

I took a breath. Now or never.

"Maybe," I said, looking into her eyes. "Maybe right now."

She didn't look away. Didn't laugh. Didn't tell me I was crazy. She just looked at me, very seriously.

"Sash..."

"I know — adult life, all that... But it seems to me... it seems to me that with you I could get through all of it. That with you, life would be interesting."

The sun had risen fairly high by now, and its rays were playing on the water in thousands of golden sparks. Somewhere in the distance, voices could be heard — Dima and Lena must have woken up.

"To me too," Vika said, very quietly. "It seems to me too that with you it would be interesting."

And then what had to happen happened. We kissed. The first time in my life — and in hers. Clumsy, careful, but sincere.

Afterward, Vika blushed and turned away:

"Dima and Lena will be up. They'll come looking for us."

"Yeah, probably."

But neither of us was in any hurry to get up. We sat side by side, and I couldn't believe this was happening to me. That the girl I'd liked for half a year had said she found me interesting, too. That we'd kissed at sunrise by the water, like in some movie.

"Sash," she said, still not turning around, "so what happens now?"

"I don't know. What's supposed to happen?"

"Well... we're... kind of... together now?"

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it must be audible on the far shore.

"If you want to be."

"I do."

Just one word, and the world flipped upside down. I had a girlfriend. A first real girlfriend, one I could talk to about important things and who understood. One I wanted to plan a future with.

We got back to camp just as Dima was crawling out of his tent with the look of a man ready to search for his missing comrades across the entire surrounding area.

"Ah, there you are!" he exclaimed. "I was starting to think a bear got you."

"What bear in the Moscow suburbs?" Lena observed practically, peeking out of her tent.

"Fine, not a bear — aliens, then," Dima persisted. "We were talking about contact with other civilizations just last night."

Vika laughed, and I thought that her laugh now belonged a little bit to me, too. A strange feeling — like something inside me had spread its wings.

The day passed in the usual camping routines — we swam, fried potatoes, played cards, sang songs again. But everything was different. I felt older, more confident. From time to time Vika would catch my eye and smile a special smile — just for me.