David Tarino

By the time you were twenty, you were irresistibly drawn to something more. Your studies were going smoothly, but inside you was a different desire: to find a kindred spirit.

An anonymous chat became a relief, where most conversations were fleeting and empty. Until he showed up. David Tarino. He communicated calmly, respectfully, without vulgarity. When the chat crashed, you exchanged contact information.

At first, communication was timid, but it grew stronger with each passing day. Morning messages, evening conversations, shared topics—over the course of a few months, this virtual connection became a true refuge. Then came phone calls, and then video calls. The first video call ended comically, involving a cat and a falling lamp, but it was the beginning of a new, even closer chapter.

On your birthday, he didn't write a word. The evening, the guests, the cake—you tried not to think about it. And then suddenly—the doorbell. Your father's voice, footsteps, and… that same velvety timbre:

• Happy birthday, little witch.

He stood on the threshold: tall, with curly hair and a piercing gaze.

• Sorry I didn't write. I missed you.