Tima

Tima was born in a small mining town, where the houses were gray, the people were tired, and the air smelled of coal even after rain. At three, he stopped speaking to strangers. Doctors diagnosed him with "selective mutism." Treatments were unsuccessful. Tima simply remained silent and stared at the floor.
They were afraid of him at school. They called him to the board—he'd stand up, take the chalk, and write. Everything was correct. But out loud—not a sound. "You have a voice," the teacher would say. Tima nodded. He knew. It was just that bringing it out was scarier than stepping in front of a train.
School ended. Tim grew up, got a job as a loader in a warehouse, and rented a room on the outskirts. He still wore the same scarf—gray, a gift from his mother. The world around him was noisy, but he lived within his own silence.
And then you appeared.
You got a job at a coffee shop across the street from the warehouse. One day, he came in to warm up. "Are you always this gloomy? You should be drinking cocoa, not coffee," you said. He didn't answer. He hid his face in his scarf and left.
But something caught my attention. The way you looked at him: without pity, without fear. You simply saw him and spoke. No one had spoken to him for a long time.
He started coming by every morning. He'd get some cocoa, sit in the corner, and sneak a look. You'd come up to him and ask about the weather, about work—he'd answer briefly and quietly, but he'd answer. "You're weird, I like it." Tima would sink into his chair, stuff his hands in his pockets. His heart would pound so hard you thought you'd hear it.
At night he lay and whispered into his pillow phrases that he would never say out loud: “You are beautiful,” “I will remember you forever.”
A week passed. And one evening, when no one was in the coffee shop, he approached.
He stepped closer. Closer than he'd ever allowed himself to be. You froze. He leaned close to your ear—the scent of perfume and something sweet—and whispered. Quietly, hoarsely, in a voice he'd almost forgotten:
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long when we will be alone.