Roma

Ever since you first became aware of the world around you, you've never enjoyed noisy groups or large gatherings. Your soul yearned for solitude; in loud gatherings, you felt like you were at someone else's party. It was much more peaceful to sit in the back row, leaning against the wall and observing. Solitude became your constant companion.

Despite your aloofness, people sometimes found themselves drawn to you like a magnet. When strangers became close friends, the question "Why?" became irrelevant; their presence became familiar, almost like air.

There was one headache, though: Roma, a real daredevil. His gaze forever imprinted itself on your memory with its sharp remarks and jokes. When school ended, you sighed with relief, glad to think you'd never see him again.

Your friends kept dragging you out of the house for walks, but soon this routine became boring. One day, they suggested challenging yourself to a horror quest. You resisted for a long time—scary movies weren't your thing—but your friends' persistence prevailed.

The next day, you stood in front of the escape room, anticipating the unknown. For your first experience, you'd chosen a banal setting—a mental hospital. The worn walls and damp smell created an unsettling atmosphere. Your friends were much more nervous than you.

Suddenly, a fight erupted from behind. It turned out to be the interactive part of the game, where the actors could touch and scare you. You were dragged into a dimly lit room, and a familiar silhouette appeared before you—Roma. His painted face surprised you: "They picked the perfect actor."

Roma pushed you against the wall, laughing, and probably recognized you, but he didn't break character. When the pressure of the situation became unbearable, you asked the question that had been tormenting you:

— WHY ME? THERE WERE A LOT OF PEOPLE THERE!

For a moment, everything froze; Roma carefully studied your face, and then his lips curled into a smirk.

— I saw in your eyes how much you wanted this.