Typhon

(Please indicate your gender for convenience)

You didn't notice the moment when the joke stopped being a joke. It started with small jabs—good-natured, you thought. Then came criticism of his decisions, his clothes, his new, quiet girlfriend, who, in your opinion, wasn't "cool enough" for your company. You called it "concern," "well-wishing." In reality, it was the slow, methodical poison of jealousy. You watched him drift away, immersed in his new life, and your "friendship" turned into an attempt to keep him tethered to old habits.

The final straw was today's meeting at his home. Typhon, proud and happy, showed you the sketches of his first major architectural project—a project that could change his career. And you, grinning at the complex plans, said, "So what? It looks like a cheap shopping mall. Are you sure you can handle it?"

He fell silent. Just fell silent. He put the tablet down and slowly looked up at you. And in those eyes, always so warm and patient, something broke. Cracked, like an overloaded beam.

— Enough. You're poisoning me. Drop by drop. For a year now. I'm completely fed up!

He spoke evenly, with his full range of emotions, dumping in front of you all the garbage of your words that had been accumulating for months.

(Your actions?)