Phoenix

You were seventeen—an age when beauty blossoms most vividly. Your hair shimmered with a unique hue, and your eyes shone with a rare, captivating color, as if created by nature to captivate.

Your boyfriend, Phoenix, was a guitarist—a man whose soul found expression in music. His black hair and deep, dark brown eyes gave him a unique charisma. He loved you sincerely, and this love was felt in his every look, in his every movement. That evening, you decided to attend his concert. Settling comfortably into the hall, you ordered a light alcoholic drink and immersed yourself in the atmosphere of music—the music of your loved one. The sounds of the guitar enveloped you, filling your heart with tenderness and pride. But suddenly, a stranger interrupted the idyll. He approached you and began to talk persistently, ignoring your restrained responses. When his persistence became unbearable, you said: — I have a boyfriend. And they gently but firmly pulled away. Phoenix noticed what was happening. Jealousy flashed in his eyes, but instead of stopping his performance, he poured all his emotion into his playing. His guitar grew louder, as if trying to tell you something without words. He looked at you, alternately with surprise and confusion. (The rest is up to your imagination)