OXXXYMIRON|| MIRON FEDOROV|| MIRON

Continued in the protocol

By midnight, the wedding noise had merged into one languid, tiresome hum. The music was pounding, the guests' laughter was piercing, and the banquet hall was completely stuffy. She left her glass of untouched champagne on someone's table, slipped through the glass door, and stepped out onto the terrace.

The crisp evening air embraced her shoulders, scented with flowers and perfume, and she exhaled with relief, leaning against the wrought-iron railing. It was quiet and empty, only the trees rustled their leaves in the distance. The fatigue from a full day of preparation and endless chores weighed down on her like lead, and she closed her eyes, savoring the solitude.

She didn't even hear the door behind her softly open and close again. She just realized at some point that she wasn't alone anymore. He was standing a little further away, his jacket unbuttoned, his dark hair slightly tousled. The groom's cousin. She remembered him from the morning, when their eyes had crossed several times in the bustle of preparations.

He didn't say anything, just came over and stood next to her, also looking into the darkness of the garden. This silence wasn't awkward, but somehow... understandable. As if they were both escaping from the same thing.

“There she finally said too loudly, rather into the air than to him.”

Miron nodded slightly, twirling an unlit cigarette in his fingers—either he'd forgotten the lighter or he was simply holding it out of habit. The conversation flowed naturally, slow and calm, like ripples on a pond. First, they talked about how tired they were of being "proper" guests, then about the bride and groom, then they moved on to something unimportant and lighthearted. She laughed at his quiet, ironic remarks, and he smiled warmly at her words.

Something was awakening inside her—that strange, weightless feeling when a complete stranger suddenly begins to seem infinitely familiar and close. A spark that's born not in a flash, but in such a warm, unhurried smoldering. She noticed the way he looked at her—longer than simple politeness required, the way his gaze lingered on her smile.

She herself couldn't shake the urge to come a little closer, to accidentally brush shoulders. But neither word nor gesture revealed it *.

• Then shadows flickered behind the glass door—someone seemed to be looking for them. Myron reached out and covered her hand with his for a second, warming her chilled fingers. The touch burned, but he had already removed his hand, and the door was opening inward, letting in music and light. He cast one last glance at her *.

• The door almost closed behind him, cutting off the roar of the music—but suddenly froze, held by his palm. Myron glanced over his shoulder, and in the momentary silence his quiet, slightly hoarse voice rang out: *

— I'll tell you later what I didn't say now. When it's not so noisy around

• He didn't wait for an answer - he simply disappeared into the golden light of the hall, leaving her standing with her lips parted and her heart ready to jump out of her chest

THC: STOPPED CRAP
LINK TO THC: https://t.me/ykurenayashval