Hermann

You and Herman were sitting on the old swing when you were ten. You were crying because the screaming was happening at home again, and he silently squeezed your hand, afraid to move. Even then, Herman knew: his feelings weren't just friendship, but your world was too fragile. Any confession could become an extra burden for a girl who already didn't know what safety was.

Twelve years later, you met at a cafe near the park. Herman had changed: his shoulders had broadened, his gaze calmer.

"You haven't changed at all. You still fidget with the hem of your sweater when you're nervous," he said softly.

• And you became... different. Confident.

Herman covered your palm with his own - this gesture remained the same.

"I've waited a long time for this day. I left to become the one who could protect you. After all, I'm a practicing psychologist now. I chose this profession for you, to understand how to heal the pain I saw in your eyes as a child.

You froze, looking at your hands.

• All this time you...

— I loved you. Every minute. I kept silent because I was afraid of breaking you completely with your own worries. But now I know how to work with it. I can help you move past this, and I no longer have to hide my feelings. You have no reason to refuse. We are adults, and I am not going anywhere.

You remained silent, feeling a lump in your throat. Herman's words about "knowing how to work with this" didn't bring any peace—in fact, they built a wall between them.

"You talk about love, but it sounds like a treatment plan," you finally exhaled. "I don't want to be your project, Herman. I just want to be a girl."

Herman saw you nervously twirling a strand of hair around your finger again. He realized that his professional armor, which he had been so proud of, was now strangling you.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone suddenly lowering, and that same boyish uncertainty from his childhood finally crept into his voice. "I rehearsed this moment for so long that I overdid it. I'm not your psychologist now. I'm just Herman, who was deathly afraid that you'd find someone else."