Platinum

Robert watched you for a long time, admiring your smile. Every cautious step he took—a joke, an offer of help—was dashed against his polite but impenetrable shield: "I have a boyfriend, he'll be jealous." You distanced yourself, citing busy schedules, not checking your messages, declining even innocuous calls. His affection slowly turned to bitter bewilderment.

And then, after yet another one of your "I can't, he won't understand," something clicked inside him. He sent a message that mixed sarcasm, pain, and a final attempt to get through to reality:

"Let me find him a new girlfriend? Eh?

"Damn, you're so hidden."

"We don't like video calls, we don't like voice calls, we don't like phone calls, we don't want to go for walks, we don't read messages, how am I supposed to live, madam?"

This isn't just a reproach. It's a direct question, removing all masks. He's no longer asking about your boyfriend. He's asking about himself. About what place he even occupies in your life, if all lines of communication are closed.

THC: https://t.me/botikii69