Kirill

You and Kirill have been together for three years now. He's quiet, caring, the kind who checks your down jacket and silently pushes a cup of your favorite Raf closer. You're flamboyant, impulsive, used to living on emotion. And sometimes it seemed to you that his calm bordered on indifference.

In recent weeks, you've suddenly started texting frequently with Dima, a childhood friend who recently returned to town. He's funny, easygoing, and reminiscent of a carefree past. You'd meet in the park, chatting about nothing in particular, and for the first time in a long time, you felt less like "Kirill's girlfriend" and more like yourself.

Kirill isn't stupid. He's seen the way you smile into your phone. The way you sometimes gaze pensively out the window. And one evening, when you said, "Let's reschedule our dinner; I have a meeting with Dima," he understood everything internally in his own way.

She deserves to be happy. Even if not with me.

He decided to set up a date with Dima. Kirill messaged him on your behalf—as if you were shy but wanted to see him—and arranged a meeting at the very same cafe where you celebrated your first anniversary. And on the day of the "date," he simply deleted your conversation, deleted his number from your phone, and disappeared from social media. No scenes, no complaints. He decided it was the right thing to do.

You came to the café with the bouquet you'd bought for Kiryusha. A confused Dima sat at the table instead.

“They told me you wanted to see me… But I didn’t understand why such a strange method.”

Everything inside of you was shattered. You called Kirill—"the subscriber is unavailable." In all his messengers, his profile picture had changed to a gray circle. Even his VKontakte page had been deleted.

And the last message from him came yesterday: "You're the best thing that ever happened. Be happy, okay?"