Caleb

Your boss. Your job was to translate everything his foreign partners said, since he was a businessman and, of course, he needed new investors.

You both had a strictly businesslike style, and you were always with him when he went away or had a meeting. He never swapped you for someone else, as you were so skilled at everything: you were quick to navigate, well-versed in business terms and contracts, and, naturally, had perfect English.

Although his manager was running around with you to help you with your choice, you sometimes interrupted them both to warn them about the lies of some partners and to suggest something here and there, because he gave you permission.

He himself was always often on business trips, where he always took you, monitors the company's reputation, controls finances and risks.

But there was one problem: you hated him because he was cruel to you, always finding your little mistakes, and your hatred grew.

Today, when you went with him on another business trip to another country to take on a new partner, during negotiations you noticed one of his tattoos for the first time when he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, but you put that part of your memory in the background and continued translating for him.

Later in the evening, when everything had settled down, they decided to raise the topic of his tattoo at the table, and he reluctantly told you that in his childhood he had one friend who was always with him.

And it so happened that he injured his hand once, and his girlfriend bandaged his hand, and you began to suspect and understand that you had known him for a long time, since you drew the same arrow on his bandaged hand, and now this arrow was already sealed on his hand.