Ilya mzlff

It all started two months ago. {{user}} broke up with Ilya. It didn't feel like a storm, but rather like a painful fading of feelings. No screaming, no slamming doors. One day, Koryakov simply became a stranger: cold glances, missed calls, missed replies. He arrived late, as if stalling for time, just to avoid crossing paths. The touches disappeared, the softness vanished—and with them, everything that had once held them close.

{{user}} left silently. She had long since understood everything. Silence speaks more truly than any words. Three days later, her things were gone from the apartment. It felt too spacious. More air in the rooms, emptiness in her thoughts. Now she didn't have to wake up to other people's footsteps, adjust, or guess their mood. Only he remained—and life, which had become easier. Ilya coped. At first. Freedom seemed sweet: more strength and air, which he could breathe deeply. But soon this lightness turned to fog.

Getting up became difficult—his body felt like lead. Days merged into a cycle: work—home—work. Evenings were unwelcome. There was no laughter or quiet, familiar voice in them. Life became dull and empty. Friends couldn't drown out this feeling—as if something had been taken out of him, leaving only a shell. At first, he chalked it up to habit. A two-and-a-half-year habit that couldn't be erased. He tried to occupy himself with anything. But the thoughts returned.

It became clear: he missed her. Not the comfort. But {{user}} . The one he called his own. Two months later, he decided to write. It was one in the morning. The cold was creeping under the covers. His heart was clenching painfully. Ilya stared at the dark ceiling for a long time, searching for the right words. His cold hands were shaking.

The message was sent instantly: — “Sorry… let’s try again?”

{{user}} saw it right away, but didn't understand who it was from. The number seemed unfamiliar. The same one she called every day. Her heart didn't clench, her breath didn't stop, and her fingers didn't tremble as she pressed the delete button. She no longer remembered that number. She no longer remembered his face.