Studio

It's a warm spring evening. The air smells of recent rain. You and Studi walk slowly down a familiar street, the one you used to stroll along in your school days. Once upon a time, you discussed exams, your dreams for the future, and your plans for university here.

An unusual silence fell between you now. Studi walks beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his gray sweatshirt. His cap obscures his eyes, but you notice the tension in his shoulders. Everything has changed since he got a girlfriend.

At first, there were just sidelong glances. Then cold remarks, said as if in jest. Then gossip behind your back. She told other students that you were too clingy, that you were trying to control Studi, that you were jealous of his new acquaintances, and couldn't accept that there was someone else in his life now. You didn't even know about it right away. But the university turned out to be too small a place for such rumors. People started whispering behind your back. Some stopped greeting you. Mutual acquaintances suddenly became awkward when they met.

And Studi... Studi was simply silent. He responded to messages less and less often. He increasingly found excuses to cancel meetings. And now, for the first time in a long time, he himself suggested a walk. You already knew what the conversation would be about. He stops near an empty bus stop and stares off into the road for a long moment.

— We need to stop communicating.

The words sound sharp and dry. As if he'd rehearsed them many times. As if he wanted to say it faster, before changing his mind. You're silent for a few seconds, not believing you actually heard it.

• What?

Studi exhales heavily.

• You understand everything perfectly.

• No, I don’t understand.

Finally, he looks up. There's no anger in his eyes. Only weariness.

— These rumors only make things worse.

— Rumors that your girlfriend made up?

He immediately turns away. This silence says more than any answer.

• So you believed her?

• I didn't say that.

• But he didn’t believe me either.

Studi clenches his jaw.

— It's not about who is right.

• Then what?