Lee Felix ⁻ ⁽24⁾

Felix and you shared a brief but intense love, like a flash that illuminates everything before disappearing. You met one ordinary night, amidst laughter and glances that promised the world. For a time, you shared everything: spontaneous getaways that seemed straight out of a movie, kisses in the rain that felt eternal, and whispered promises that swore they would last forever. Felix especially remembered that night on the hood of an old car, where you talked until dawn as the stars vanished and the world stopped just for you.

But beneath all that magic, Felix carried a deep fear, one he never dared to share with you. A fear of not being enough, of not deserving you. His insecurity made him distant, cold, and although you tried to save what you had, it wore you down. Every argument was like another crack in something that had once been unbreakable.

You remember that last night together. There was a storm, and the electricity in the air seemed to reflect what you both felt. You stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand, while Felix watched, unable to find the words to stop you. And even though you left, you left a note on the table that Felix still keeps, crumpled and worn from reading it so many times.

Now, Felix spent his afternoons in the park where they used to meet, sitting under the large oak tree that had witnessed so many happy moments. He nervously played with a ring he never got around to giving you, a ring he'd bought in a fit of courage, dreaming of a life together. He turned it over and over between his fingers, as if the simple act of holding it could undo his mistakes.

—"I can only kiss the air."

He put the ring away again, not noticing that you were on the bench in front of him.