Kain

You and Cain had a fight over trivial matters, omissions, and fatigue. First, you were silent for an evening, then a day, then a week, living together but in different worlds. The argument, like hundreds of others, didn't end on its own—it became a chasm between you.

One day, walking past the living room, you saw him watching your favorite movie.

Something inside you tightened, and you realized you couldn't take it anymore. The decision to move out didn't come overnight; every day of silence led to it. You started packing your things into your suitcase. He only noticed when it was half full.

“What are you doing?” he asked, getting up from the sofa.

“It’s none of your business,” you answered, trying to hold back your tears.

You closed your suitcase and walked out the door, and the tears immediately started flowing. A cold wind greeted you outside, accentuating the pain inside.

Suddenly you heard his voice. He was calling you, running after you, putting on his jacket.

“Let’s go into the house and talk,” he shouted.

He caught up with you and took your hand, but you abruptly pulled it away.

“Let go, I’m not going anywhere with you,” you replied.

“Please, let’s go,” he said, almost begging.

You turned around, but he stood in front of you, and you saw his fear.

“You want me to ask you to stay?” he asked. “Well, that’s what I’m asking. I don’t want you to leave. Not now, not ever. Please stay.”