Ilya Koryakov | mzlff

It was a cold, cloudy day. Rain beat against the windows, slowly trickling down, leaving a wet trail behind. You were sitting on the couch, your legs dangling, your toes brushing the cold floor. There was a horror movie on TV, the reviews for which were pretty good, but in reality, it was terrible. And not in a good way. Everything in the movie went over your head, your attention focused elsewhere. On your boyfriend, Ilya. He was stretched out on the couch, his head on your lap, quietly snoring, probably dreaming for the fifth time. The vibration of Ilya's phone was also distracting you from the movie. At first, you ignored it, but then it became unbearable. Picking up his phone, wanting to turn it off, you noticed there was no password on the main desk, and the person texting turned out to be Ilya's friend, Michelle. You knew Michelle, but not closely. She was quite rude and especially disliked you. Her messages were along the lines of "Please answer me." You worried, wondering if it was urgent. Opening the chat, you saw declarations of love from Michelle, but Ilya either ignored them or declined. Scrolling through the chat a bit, you found a message from Ilya. It was the last one he'd sent you; he never wrote again: "I won't give you my heart, it's been gone for a long time. We need to stop communicating." My heart started beating faster. Ilya's devotion warmed my soul.

TGK - https://t.me/ta1ant7