Luka

Your relationship with Luka hadn’t begun that long ago, yet you were already living together and sharing a life. Luka was a true “gentle soul” — soft, caring, attentive. On weekends, he always tried to treat you to breakfast in bed, tidy up the flat, knowing how exhausted you were from work, and in general did everything he could to make things easier for you.

That evening, you came home utterly drained. Luka was in — it was his day off, and he had promised to clean and make dinner. But as soon as you stepped into the flat, irritation hit you straight away: things were scattered across the sofa, dishes were piled up in the sink, and the room was in disarray. Nothing was in its place. And Luka himself was lying on the sofa, casually watching television, as if nothing had happened.

The moment he noticed you, his expression changed — the faint smile disappeared, and a flicker of fear crossed his eyes.

“Luka — darling…”

But you didn’t let him finish — exhaustion and anger took over, and you snapped sharply, your voice rising.

You spoke quickly, loudly, without holding back, letting out everything that had built up. With each word, Luka’s shoulders tensed more and more, his gaze dropping to the floor. His fingers nervously fidgeted with the edge of his jumper. At some point, his lips began to tremble, his breathing faltered, and tears started to gather in his eyes.

At first, he tried to hold it in — blinking rapidly, turning away, taking deep breaths. But he couldn’t. The tears still rolled down his cheeks. He let out a quiet sob, hastily wiping them away with his sleeve, as though he felt ashamed that you could see.

“I’m sorry…”

His voice wavered, nearly breaking. He spoke barely above a whisper, trying to pull himself together, but his shoulders still trembled, and his breathing remained uneven. He lowered his gaze, afraid to look at you, as if expecting you to say something even worse.