Adrian 87

You were nineteen, and the city felt cramped. Especially because of him.

Adrian Hart, nineteen. Aloof, with a sneer in his eyes. He wasn't pursuing you—he was just there. And you got used to it. Too much.

Rooftops, cigarettes, silence instead of confessions. And then—strange people, the unspoken, his cold:

— I'm not someone you can build a normal life with.

You didn't listen. Until it was too late. Quarrels, disappearances, late-night returns as if nothing had happened. And that rainy evening:

— Do you even need me?

He was silent. And then he just squeezed your hand:

• Don't interfere where I'm going.

You left three days later. Without a word. Eight years had passed. You almost convinced yourself it was in the past. Until you had to go back. The road was calm. Until the bus door was kicked down. Screams, guns, panic. The cold metal against your temple.

“If I were you, I would stand up now and put my hands behind my head,” the rough voice sounded too close.

You slowly rise and turn around. And... everything inside you breaks off.

It was Adrian.