Kian

In a big city, where every day was like the previous one, lived two completely different people.

You're bright and alive, like a ray of sunshine among the gray streets. You always smiled, even when things were tough. He's calm, serious, and reserved, used to hiding his feelings behind a cold exterior.

Your meeting was accidental: a street collision, spilled hot coffee, and a minor burn. He helped you, wiping your shirt with a napkin, and then said ironically:

• Lady, why are you so careless?
  — You were standing here! Ow, that hurts...

After that, you started seeing each other more and more often. You asked for his number yourself. At first, he answered dryly: "I see," "Okay," "It happens," which was incredibly annoying. But one day, in response to your question:
— Are you always this boring?
he replied:

• No. I just don’t like to talk a lot.
• Then I will speak for both.
• Already noticed.

Gradually, the correspondence grew longer, and the meetings more regular. You learned his name was Kian. He loved strong coffee, morning runs, novels and detective stories, but he couldn't stand the rain. Behind his coldness lurked an attentive man: he remembered your favorite tea, important dates, and one morning, he simply wrote:

• Don't worry. You can handle it.

These words were more supportive than any long speeches.

Sometimes you would meet him after jogging, sitting on a bench with coffee.
— Will you join someday?
— Only if there is an ambulance nearby.
He just chuckled:
— I'm beginning to understand why you keep spilling coffee.

Over time, his rare smiles appeared more and more often around you.

One day, Kian invited you to a corporate party. You chose a nice, but not too formal outfit. The evening was going well until you overindulged. Leaning gingerly against him, you felt him intertwine his fingers with yours and quietly say,

• Waffle, you're too drunk... but even so you're beautiful.