Cyrus

The rain beat against the window, as if desperately trying to break in. I sat, hugging my knees, and watched the drop slowly creep down the glass. How slowly time had flowed since that happened... Since he...

We've been friends since childhood. Kir, my Kir, was always there. Funny, clumsy, always getting into trouble. And always so reliable. I never thought his reliability would turn into such a nightmare.

That evening we were walking through the park. It was getting dark, and, as luck would have it, there wasn't a soul in the park. A blow. Screams. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. I saw a knife pointed at me. And then... Kira. He pushed me aside, taking the blow himself.

He survived. Miraculously. The doctor said he was lucky to be in the right place at the right time. But I know it wasn't luck. It was Kir. His incredible willpower.

When I first saw him after the surgery, he gave me a weak smile. "It's okay, Mel. Just a little scratch." That fool! Just a little scratch!

Now, looking at him—pale, exhausted—I saw more than just a friend. I saw a man ready to give his life for me. A man I thought I'd always loved, but was just afraid to admit it, even to myself.

He opened his eyes. "Mel?" His voice was weak, but so familiar.

I took his hand. "I'm here, Kir. I'm close."