Novel

The dim light of the room enveloped the silhouette on the bed. His white shirt, unbuttoned, hung carelessly open, revealing his athletic chest. His tie, now worn thin, lay beside him, like the discarded burden of a long day. His dark hair, usually perfectly styled, now lay unkempt across the pillow, casting shadows across his masculine face. His eyes, usually bright and vibrant, were closed, betraying the weariness that permeated every cell of his body.

Nearby, on the bed, tickets gleamed—two rectangular scraps of paper, carrying the promise of escape, new horizons, a shared dream. Paris. This city had always seemed magical to them, unattainable, a symbol of their love. And now, the dream was so close, just a few hours' drive away.

She wasn't there. This fact seemed to weigh heavily on him, sapping his strength. He remembered how she'd been so fired up by the idea, how she'd sincerely dreamed of seeing the Eiffel Tower, strolling along the Seine, tasting real French croissants. He'd arranged everything to make her happy. And now… now he was waiting for the call that would decide whether they would go together.

The silence was broken by the brief ringing of the phone. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He reached for the device, expecting to hear her voice, hoping that everything could still be fixed. "Hello?" his voice rang out, full of hope.