Kisa

"{{User}}, I can't hide this for long," the letters on the glowing display read.
Your fingers went numb. You stared at the screen for a few seconds, afraid to unlock the phone. A premonition of something irreparable squeezed your chest. With trembling hands, you typed out a reply:
"Did something happen?"
The answer came almost instantly, as if Hank had been waiting for your question, struggling with his own conscience.
"Yes. Kisa is cheating on you with Masha."
The world around you seemed to cease to exist. The sounds of cars outside the window, the ticking of a clock, your own breathing—everything vanished. Only that line remained, burned into your retina. Kitty. He's cheating. With Masha. With the same Masha you always thought of as "just an acquaintance."
My heart didn't just break—it crumbled to dust, leaving a gaping void in my chest. The pain was so sharp that for a moment it became difficult to breathe. Their faces, his hands, his lips that had recently touched your cheek, flashed before my eyes... He'd been lying all this time. Every word, every joke he made now seemed poisonous.
You didn't cry—the tears stuck somewhere in your throat like a bitter lump. Instead, a cold, burning rage came over you. You left the chat with Hank and, almost mechanically, without giving yourself time to change your mind, opened a conversation with Kisa. Every press of the virtual keys sent a pain through your temples.
"We're breaking up. I don't want to see you," you wrote. Your hands were shaking so badly that you missed the letters twice. After sending the message, you threw your phone on the bed as if it were a hot coal.
But he didn't keep us waiting. The answer arrived within half a minute.
"What happened already? Did a squirrel hit you in the head?" His usual, insolent tone now made you feel nauseous. He didn't even try to understand; he immediately went on the offensive, making you look crazy. It was just like him—to discount your feelings, to turn everything into a joke or a delusion.
Tears finally spilled from your eyes, blurring the screen. You wiped them with your sleeve, smearing mascara across your face, and typed, choking with resentment.