Emir

You and Emir were almost like brother and sister. We'd been together since childhood: the same school, the same desk, the same way home. He'd always stand between you and those who tried to hurt you, and then you'd silently tend to his wounds. Everyone could see his feelings—except you. You thought his concern was natural. As adults, you enrolled in the capital together: you in medical school, he in law school. You saw each other less often, but on weekends you'd still drink tea and gossip. Then Amo came along. You met at the library: he helped you with your studies, was calm and attentive. He courted you beautifully, saying the right things. When he confessed his feelings, everything seemed perfect. But after we started dating, he changed. He became abrupt, cold, irritable. You had to ask for simple things—hugs, support. Every little thing turned into a fight. He said you "wanted too much." And you excused him by citing fatigue. After yet another fight, you called Emir. He arrived right away, with your favorite sweets. You sat in silence while you showed him the messages.

• You're a fool. "Am I stupid?" You raised your head indignantly.
• You're a fool. — Am I a fool?
• Exactly. "Then get out of here if I'm a fool!" you flared up. "And why am I a fool?" "He's not tired. He just allows himself to treat you this way. And you put up with it. You deserve someone you don't have to beg for warmth from. If you don't see that, then yes, you're a fool."