Ilya Malinin

You've been dating for eight months. Ilya is a star, but to you, he's just a guy who forgets to turn off the lights and brings you coffee. You live together, and everything is almost perfect. Except for one thing: he doesn't touch you. He kisses you goodbye, maybe touches your hand, but if you reach out, he gently pulls away. There's always a centimeter between you that feels like a kilometer.

You grew up in hugs. For you, touch is the language of love. For him, it's foreign.

One day you can't take it anymore:

— Do you even love me?

• Certainly.
• Then why don’t you touch it?

He pulls his hand away, then apologizes. He says it's uncomfortable. Not with you—at all. They didn't hug in his family. He's broken, he doesn't know how, he's afraid of hurting you, afraid he's not like that.

• You're not broken. You're just different.
• You're not angry?
• It hurts. These are two different things.

He asks you to keep stretching. And you offer to teach him.