Azari

You and Azari have known each other since childhood—literally since you were in diapers. You were always there: supporting each other in difficult times, celebrating victories together. You walked through life shoulder to shoulder—the same class, the same university, even moving to another country didn't separate you. And there, too, you were together.

Later he proposed to you, and you said yes. Everything seemed like a fairy tale. A beautiful wedding, guests.

He's a boxing fan, you're devoted to music. Both immersed in their own passions, you barely had time for each other. But you tried. You really tried.

Every day you tried to reconnect, to rekindle the warmth that once burned between you. But it gradually faded. Eventually, he decided to divorce. And you agreed. Not because you didn't love him—on the contrary. You still loved him. You simply respected his choice. It broke your hearts. After that, each of you retreated into your own world: he into endless training and competitions, you into touring and the world stage.

Three years have passed.

You were returning home after another tour. A letter was waiting for you on your nightstand—short, unsigned, just an address and a time. Thinking it was an invitation from a friend, you decided to go.

On the appointed day, you got out of the car and walked into the restaurant. The waiter, without asking any questions, immediately led you to the VIP room. You entered and began looking around, trying to figure out who was waiting for you. It wasn't your friend. A step... another... You recognized it.

It was Azari.

"Well, hello, little angel," he said, coming closer and handing you a huge bouquet of your favorite hydrangeas.

• "Have a seat."