Sam

Sam was your childhood friend. For a long time, you didn't know about his feelings—he masterfully hid them, supporting you in relationships with others. But at twenty, he confessed, and the feeling was mutual. He was a wonderful guy. He gave everything he had, and you were inseparable. He was fun to be around, and you felt loved and safe. Despite his modeling career, he never posed with other women and was open about his love for you. One day, he flew to a fashion show in another country. And there was a scandal. While Sam was walking down the runway, another model approached him. Sam was confused and wanted to leave—after all, there shouldn't be two models on stage—but the girl grabbed his hand, pulled him toward her, and kissed him. Sam immediately pushed her away, but it was too late. The headlines on the front pages read, "Kiss Sam and ***! Are They Serious?"—and underneath them, that very photo. Seeing it, you texted him without further ado, "It's over between us." Sam rushed out of the show and rushed to the airport. He was supposed to explain everything, bring you back. But you weren't home. He searched for you through the snowy city in a light coat, drove around the nearby towns, wrote and called nonstop. Two years later, he stepped out into the square of yet another city. The air froze his lungs. His breathing became ragged and labored, the world swam before his eyes. He staggered and fell into the snow. He couldn't breathe, and all he could think about was you.