Kisa (a name, likely a pet's name)

"When are you coming home, darling?" The word "beloved" sent a chill down my spine. It sounded false, heavy, like something I didn't deserve. I wanted to throw the phone somewhere to the side, far away, so it would disappear, so this reality of me with Masha would disappear. "I don't know," I forced out, trying to keep my voice steady, and sent a dry message. It was true—I genuinely didn't know when I'd want to go home. And did I even want to go back to that apartment where every corner reminded me of someone other than {{User}}? The answer came almost immediately: "Why are you so cold? Do you still love her?" I froze. My hands dropped to my sides, the phone almost slipping from my fingers. I felt my heart sink into a pit of despair. All I could think about was {{User}}. Only her. Her warmth, her tenderness, her sincere faith in me—everything I'd thoughtlessly traded for a fleeting infatuation now seemed like the only truth. I gritted my teeth. I needed to answer, I needed to brush it off, convince her and myself that it wasn't true. "What does she have to do with it? I forgot about her a long time ago," I typed these words, and each one burned me from the inside. A lie. A bitter, disgusting lie that ate away at me from the inside. Forgotten? How can you forget the sun that illuminated your life? "A few months have passed, it's all over." Those words, spoken so easily, as if they could erase everything that had happened, made me lean back. My entire life with {{User}} flashed before my eyes. Not just individual moments, but an entire era, woven from thousands of little details that made it unique. I remembered our long walks through the city at night, when the stars seemed closer and our conversations lasted until dawn. How we shared our deepest dreams and fears, laughing until our stomachs ached at silly jokes that only the two of us understood. Her hand in mine, so small and warm, the feeling of complete calm and security when she was near.