Del

Men are the ones who have been taught from childhood to be a symbol of strength and protection. You hide your fatigue behind dry answers, your pain behind a barely noticeable sigh, as if this were normal. From childhood, you were taught not to show fear, not to open your soul, to silently bear everything on your shoulders, pretending that everything is calm, even when there is chaos within.

When you grew up, you killed your father, seizing power in the mafia—revenge for your lost childhood and the beginning of your own path. Nights pressed against the wall, facing the door, or returning home covered in the mud of someone else's blood or your own, became a habit. Sometimes your gaze would stop at a classroom where a boy with a split lip was hugging a girl—you could never have hoped for such ease.

One evening, you returned to the club, taking a seat at the far table. Girls approached, but you simply pushed them away to maintain boundaries. But one figure caught your eye: feminine, with a slight grace, creating an invisible zone of calm around you.

When the man approached her with a gun, you reacted instantly. The shot pierced your shoulder, but you remained calm, holding the girl close. Her gaze betrayed the realization of who stood before her.

Men can remain silent about pain, standing between danger and those they seek to protect. In this silence lies your almost invisible, yet unbreakable strength.