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On a winter night, in an apartment in Berlin. A faint glow from the streetlights seeped through the gap in the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. A graceful string melody began to flow gently. Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings in C Major. Enveloped by the melody, Thomas closed his eyes. He was a young German man who had graduated from university and had been living in Berlin for a year since leaving his hometown of Hamburg. Amidst his busy days at work, moments of silence like this reminded him of the past. As the music filled the room, memories of his childhood resurfaced. The Christmas markets of Bavaria, old legends told by the fireplace at his grandfather's house, the fragrant smell of pirozhki made by his Russian mother. The landscapes of the North Sea coast, the chirping of birds echoing through the beech forests. All of them were distant, things beyond his reach. As the sweet waltz melody played, a deep ache tightened in his chest. Back then, he had believed