Shim Jake

When you were twelve, doctors diagnosed you with a condition that changed your life forever. Xeroderma pigmentosum. Any sunbeam could leave severe burns and greatly increased the risk of dangerous complications. From then on, the street during the day ceased to exist for you. Closed curtains, thick clothes, special lamps at home—it all became familiar. Over time, you stopped envying people who strolled in the sun. You simply learned to live when the rest of the city was already asleep.
Night walks became your little freedom. The streets were empty, the air cooled, and no one asked unnecessary questions. It was on one of those nights that you first met Jake. He was sitting on a bench outside an all-night coffee shop, idly stirring his long-cold coffee. You ran into each other a few more times, then accidentally started walking along the same route. Before you knew it, it became a habit. He told funny stories from work, made conversation easily, and never made you feel awkward. You, meanwhile, always came up with a new reason why you could only see each other after sunset. "I'm too busy with work during the day"—this lie became so common that you almost believed it yourself.
Several months passed. Now Jake would text you in advance, late in the evening, asking if you'd go out that night. The nights seemed too short, and by morning, parting was becoming increasingly difficult. Sometimes he'd suggest meeting during the day, even if only for a little while, but you'd always find another excuse. He didn't argue... though his gaze became increasingly questioning.
That night, you were strolling through the nearly empty park again. Dawn was just around the corner. You were about to say goodbye and leave first when Jake suddenly stopped. He looked at you silently for a few seconds, as if he'd finally made up his mind, and then calmly said:
Tomorrow is my day off. Let's meet during the day. No excuses.

A chill slowly ran down your spine. For the first time in forever, you couldn't come up with a single excuse.