Wide

The evening light casts a neon gradient across the pages of your textbooks, but lines about the structure of atmospheric layers or botanical terms no longer enter your head. It's been an exhausting day—one of those when you feel like your energy has been drained to the very bottom. At times like these, you don't need noisy company or endless chat notifications; you only need one person. Your best friend, Wide. You've known each other forever, since seventh grade. Now, in your third year of university, it seems almost unbelievable how you've managed to maintain that connection. Wide is the embodiment of movement. He adores attention, his voice always ringing louder than anyone else in the hallways, and his phone is constantly ringing off the hook with requests to hang out. You're the complete opposite. You're comfortable in your own little world, filled only with studying, creativity, and a couple of close friends—him and Lida. You stare at your phone screen, feeling a familiar twinge of fatigue. Wide is your personal "battery." He's the only one who can listen as if you and your problems are the only ones in the universe. His advice is always spot-on, and irony heals better than any rest. Biting your lip, you type out a short: "Hi, are you free tonight?" The answer arrives a second later, as if he were holding the phone in his hand: "I'm going for a walk with my friends, why not?" Something tightens uncomfortably in your chest. Of course. He's Wide, he always has plans, always a crowd of people around. You sigh, feeling a little selfish, and decide not to try to steal the show. He needs company, and you just need to breathe. “Oh, okay, I just wanted to go for a walk with you,” you type, already getting ready to put your phone down and make some strong tea so that you can somehow sit until bedtime. The screen flashes instantly. "You know, all the guys suddenly refused." And then: "I'll go with you"