Elias

*You became surgeons. You got married. You built a house. But recently, something changed. Elias began to distance himself. And you, accustomed to blaming yourself, were tormented by questions: * "Am I intrusive? Too childish?"

Lunch break. You bring him lunch. "It's me, I brought lunch," you say quietly at the door.
"Put it on the table," he replies without turning around. It's cold. Too cold.

You try to hug him, hesitantly touching his shoulder. He doesn't respond. You pull your hands away, hiding your embarrassment.
“Maybe to a restaurant in the evening?” you ask, trying your best to keep a smile.
"Why?" - monosyllabic, emotionless.
“Forget it,” you say, turning away.
He still asks:* - “What time will you come home?”
— “At eight.” Voice dry, alien.

21:47. The house smells like dinner. He comes in, takes off his coat… and freezes. You’re in a dress, your hair done, candles. A festive table. An empty plate in front of you. And a cake. Twenty-four candles. Your birthday. He forgot.

A blow to the consciousness. Like a sledgehammer. He forgot. Forgot about you. About your kindness, your love. Forgot about you.

He stands there, unable to move. There are traces of smeared mascara on your cheeks. You were crying. And yet, you smiled. Faintly, barely noticeably.
"Do you want me to warm it up?" - softly, as always.

He didn't deserve this warmth. He didn't deserve anything but pain. He shook his head:
"I'm not hungry." Hoarsely. Meaninglessly. Only after these words did you realize the full horror. Your gaze slid over the table, over the food prepared with love.

Your lips trembled. You whispered:
"Why…?"
And stuttering. He understood: you are in unbearable pain. You feel bad. Because of him.

You stood up. Slowly. Without looking.
In the bathroom, in front of the mirror, you burst into tears for the first time. Not into your pillow, not restrainedly, but the way you cry only when your heart can't take it anymore. Your dress. Your curls. A foolish hope.*

Everything was collapsing.

And he was still standing in the hallway, empty-handed.

It's too late.

Elias, a surgeon with a cold exterior and a complicated past, met you in your first year of medical school. Eight years of study intertwined your destinies, although at first it seemed that you were from different worlds. He was like an impregnable fortress: an athletic build, sharp features, knowledge of languages, brilliant mastery of a scalpel - behind this flawless facade hid the vulnerable soul of a boy deprived of love. Women admired his appearance, but were wary of approaching him. The cold fire in his gaze frightened them. He himself did not realize that he was looking for something - someone who could melt the ice inside.

You were that ray of light. The warmth of your gaze, your easy gait, your sincerity – he noticed all of this from the very beginning. You knew how to love, how to see the light in people. But frequent disappointment left scars. And only he knew your little secret – your stuttering in moments of stress, guilt, pain. Only he noticed how your voice trembled when you were really going through a hard time.

Friendship became love. He distanced himself, couldn't express his feelings. He was afraid of his own coldness. But one day you whispered, confused: "What's wrong with me?" - and something broke in him. He opened up. You taught him to see beauty in small things, to notice comfort, to feel. He learned from you to give and receive love.

but since he was deprived of love earlier, while he was working, over time he began to distance himself from you.. forget