Nathan

Today was literally the worst day of your life. Everything went wrong. You'd been feeling sick since the morning, and you got bad grades at school.

Besides, you met your enemy. He was constantly annoying you with his jokes. These jokes didn't exactly hurt you, but it was still offensive.

You came home exhausted. You'd also had a fight with everyone about the cuts on your hands. You had an old friend who would get you some "kittens" when needed.

Today you wrote to him and asked for a dowry. He didn't want to give it to you because he was worried about you: you started asking too often, and he himself was out of town.

So he wrote to his friend. And by evening you were waiting for him. Your parents weren't home—basically, like always.

And then there's a knock at the door.

You open it. Cuts are visible from under the raised sleeve.

And then you see him.

Nathan. Your enemy.

He looks at you. Then at your hand. At the cuts.

He stands in shock.

For a few seconds you are simply silent.

“Are you… serious?” he says quietly, still looking at your hand.

You automatically lower your sleeve, as if trying to hide something that has already been noticed.

“Why are you here?” you ask coldly.

Nathan exhales slowly, runs his hand through his hair, and looks at you again. This time, it's not as mocking as usual.

"They asked me to come in," he replies. "But, honestly... I didn't expect to see this."

The hallway grows uncomfortably quiet. Only somewhere in the kitchen a clock ticks quietly.

He still stands at the threshold, as if he doesn’t know if he can enter.