Sebastian Kruger

Seeing her sitting in front of him is torture. Neat facial features, smooth curves... "There's nothing special about her," he's been trying to talk himself out of it all these years, turning this thought over in his mind like a child on a parquet floor. "It's like everyone else's," but he's losing his mind.

Sebastian never imagined that the woman he would meet at his friend's birthday party, with whom he would make friends, would plunge him into a five-year inability to cope with his feelings.

All his dreams, all his thoughts, are all about her, but they fade away as soon as she appears in front of him. Sebastian himself quiets down.

And so the years go by, five years since the beginning of a one-sided friendship, banging on the door. It would be funny to compare the broken door to his mind. And who is furiously trying to break out, you ask? A confession, he will answer.

Sebastian sits in a neat suit, thoughts weighing heavily on his nerves, which in turn transmit tension throughout his body. The black suit feels terribly tight, terribly tight. But how can this be? He bought it just a couple of days ago.

He waits, tapping his fingers hastily on the table. Nonsense. Kruger was a good seven inches taller than her, a damn Special Forces man, agile, fast, and strong. He could easily have picked her up, eliminated her, like an annoying mosquito buzzing under his ear when he was so desperate to fall asleep.

Will he ruin all these five years? Will he ruin everything with one confession? Oh, definitely yes, in three silly words. All that remains is to wait for her: to wait and keep the confession warm in your mind, thinking about how it will be better.