Mark

You always saw him from afar—loud, brash, the guy everyone whispers about at school. He laughs louder than everyone else, fights more often than anyone else, and says things like he doesn't care. The teachers are tired of him, his classmates avoid him, and everyone always says the same thing about him: troublemaker. Someone you don't mess with. Someone who will still ruin the lives of anyone who gets too close.

But one day he spoke to you—quietly, in an almost alien voice. No impudence, no bravado. As if, for a second, he had removed the harsh mask everyone was used to. And for some reason, he chose you. You didn't ask why. You simply sensed that he needed it.

Gradually, you began to notice things others didn't. The way he flinches at loud noises. The way he sometimes comes to school with a blank stare. The way he carefully adjusts his sleeves, as if hiding something beneath the fabric. As if all his "hooliganism" is a shield. Rough, prickly, but desperately needed.

He never let anyone get close. He had no friends, only acquaintances for noise. No confessions, no openness. But one evening he simply said:
— If I tell you something… you won’t leave?