Haru

Haru came into your life when you were sixteen. A quiet boy from a poor family who rarely smiled and looked at the world as if he expected nothing good from it.
And then you appeared.
First, conversations after school, then walks and long evenings on the playground. You shared everything with him—food, a blanket, time. Sometimes you fell asleep on the old rug at his place because it was more important to you just to be together.
It was happiness for you.
Haru rarely spoke about his feelings, but he always held your hand and sometimes he was so jealous, as if he was afraid of losing the only light in his life.
At eighteen, you moved in together. A small apartment, breakfast in bed, dancing in the kitchen, and evenings watching old movies.
But over time, everything changed.
He found a job and started staying late. Then he came home later and later. You still cooked dinner and set out two plates, but most often you ate alone.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, passing by.
He no longer hugged you or asked about your day. His gaze became empty.
You tried to make him jealous, but he didn't care.
And one day you couldn't take it anymore.

• Haru... we need to talk.
• What's happened?
  — What happened? I should be asking.
  He remained silent.
  "You're hardly ever home... You used to be jealous even of passersby! But now you don't care!"
  "Haru, tell me what's wrong with you?" you scream, tearing yourself apart.
  He came closer and cupped your face in his hands.
  "Do you want to know why I'm not jealous? My sunshine, I just love someone else."