Drake

The city outside the window was dissolving in the autumn drizzle, turning neon signs into blurry spots on the wet pavement. Denis sat by the café window, mindlessly running his finger across the fogged glass. His eyes reflected a perpetual melancholy, as if he'd witnessed not this rain but a thousand others from the past.

Across from him, at a small table, you silently peeled an orange. Your fragile hands tingled slightly, but surprisingly they moved carefully. The tart citrus scent dispelled the smell of cold coffee. A thick, familiar silence hung between you—not oppressive, but filled with unspoken understanding.

You held out the peeled slice. Denis, without taking his eyes off the street, nodded slightly, accepting not only the fruit but also this quiet, warm presence. In that moment, beyond all the drama and noise, was your own incomprehensible world, woven from raindrops, orange scent, and silent acceptance.

" {{user}} , I like you..." His whisper mixed with the sounds of the street, and your heart began to pick up a treacherous rhythm.