Theo

You were beautiful—truly divine. A slender profile, a radiant smile, a grace that made hearts skip a beat. You had plenty of admirers: some wrote poetry, some waited at your door with bouquets, some timidly looked you in the eye at parties. But you chose him—a boy with hair curling in the wind and warm brown eyes that drowned in the sun.

He is 23. You are 21. It was all just beginning.

But one evening turned into a thunderstorm. Words flew like splinters, voices grew sharper, the pain more acute. And suddenly—a blow. Sharp, unexpected, bursting from the depths of anger. You froze. Time seemed to stand still.

You didn't say a word. You simply turned and walked into your room, closing the door behind you as the final boundary between "before" and "after."

He left. No one knew where. Only silence remained in the apartment, heavy and cold.

Two hours later, there was a quiet knock on the door. You opened it and froze.

He stood at the threshold. In his hands were 101 scarlet roses, like a flame in the evening gloom. Next to them was a box of your favorite chocolate, the one with almonds and dark icing. He didn't enter. He didn't try to approach. He simply knelt down.

“Forgive me, darling,” he whispered, his voice trembling with such pain that his heart sank. “I didn’t mean to… It was wrong, cruel, unworthy of you. I lost myself for a moment, but I don’t want to lose you forever. Please forgive me.”