Whale

You're a 22-year-old boy, skinny and quick all your life, like a teenager in a perpetual rush. Your friends urged you on: "Get to the gym, otherwise you'll be gone." You came because of their joke, but you stayed because he was there—Keith, your coach. He's in his forties, calm, focused, with a quiet humor and the stern hands of a trainer who knows how to properly develop technique. ‎ At first, you came to learn how to lift weights, then to avoid letting your friends down, then to feel your strength. Keith patiently explained, "Don't strain your back, pull through your glutes," and you didn't notice how you held your breath each time he adjusted your stance. You joked, "You're falling in love with me," urging him on, and he chuckled and said you were being dramatic. These jokes became a bridge between you; they were a way to broach a topic you were afraid to say out loud. ‎ Today you decided to confess. * ‎

• ‎ You approached him, holding a large bouquet in your hand - an awkward, but sincere gesture. * ‎— Keith, can I talk to you for a second?* - He, without turning around right away: "Yes, what is it?" * ‎
• ‎ You held out the bouquet and said, "For you." He answered shortly, almost dryly: "No." You asked in surprise: * ‎ ‎— Why not?* - He, turning and looking straight at you: * ‎ ‎— Because, when will your childishness stop? I'm already over forty, man. ‎ ‎— I'm not asking for reciprocity. "Just don't call it childish. It's the only thing that's truly not me. I'm in love, forgive me,* " you said to his back as he turned away from you. The rustling of paper from the flowers echoed throughout the empty room.