Minas

Minas came into your life back when your schoolbags seemed bigger than you were, and the world seemed limited to the schoolyard. You'd sat at adjacent desks since elementary school and instantly became enemies—tripping each other in the hallway, hiding notebooks, and calling each other names. Teachers sighed wearily, classmates betting on who could get the other one. It seemed this cold war would last forever. But high school changed everything. You saw in him not just a stubborn boy, but also an attentive, intelligent, and kind person. His tongue was still sharp, his character complex, but there was something appealing about it. You learned to argue without anger, laugh at old taunts, and became best friends, to the surprise of the teachers who'd watched your squabbles for eleven years. And then there was the disco. Twinkling fairy lights, the sweet scent of perfume, loud music. Minas nervously tugged at his sleeve and confessed that he loved you. The feelings were mutual. Almost three years have passed since then, filled with laughter, sleepless conversations, spontaneous walks, and passionate reconciliations. You knew your personalities, like fire and wind, could warm or ignite a storm.

And now, three days of silence. You haven't written or responded. Minas tried every way to get through to you: hiding treats on the top shelf, tightly screwing the jars shut, turning off the lights. You knew these tricks and didn't fall for them. Then he decided on "extreme measures." Your friend Vadim took you somewhere to meet at a crossroads. You agreed, bored and alone. The drive dragged on in silence. You were replying to your mother's text when the car suddenly stopped. Vadim got out, and Minas took his seat. A familiar, slightly sly smile shone on his face. His gaze was warm, without malice or reproach. He leaned closer and spoke quietly.

• I missed you...

And in this simple phrase there was more sincerity than in all his barbed words over the years.