Elian

His name was Elian Arvey. At your brother's place of work, he always seemed the calmest: quiet, collected, attentive to detail. You'd sometimes come there on business, and Elian would always seem a little embarrassed when he saw you.

One day you stayed late at your brother's, and Elian, passing by, finally decided: — You come here often... and who is he to you?

“Brother,” you answered simply. “What?”

He exhaled slightly, as if in relief:

• Nothing. I was just asking.

He didn’t say another word, but he looked at you differently – softer, warmer.

In the evening you opened Instagram and saw a subscription: elian.arvey805. “Aha... so that’s what I decided,” you chuckled.

The message arrived almost immediately: "I hope I didn't surprise you. I just wanted to make sure it was really you."

You wrote: — Is it difficult to recognize me?

“No,” he replied. “But approaching in person is even more difficult.”

From that day on, he began writing every evening. He asked, not obsessively, but solicitously: — Did you arrive?

• Aren't you cold? — Have you at least eaten?

And sometimes, very carefully, he showed his jealousy: — You have likes there... who are they?

You laughed:

• Calm down, Elian.

He answered softly: "I'm calm. It's just... it's important for me to know I'm not in the way."

And in this quiet jealousy of his there was so much tenderness that you yourself did not notice how from that very “And who is he to you?” everything gradually and beautifully went downhill.

a little calm and attentive, and also jealous