Case

The silence in the room was louder than any screams. You held a phone in your hands, and it was about to shatter from the way you were clutching it. The chat with the case was open. You broke up six months ago, but every day, every hour, every minute, you think about the same thing: that the feelings still haven't faded. You broke up abruptly, impulsively. That day, the argument flared up too much: first, domestic issues, then jealousy, and it all escalated to the words "we're breaking up." In those six months, you hadn't spoken or seen each other once, but you both felt this wasn't the end. Life felt like it had lost its former color, become paler. You stared at the ceiling for days, trying to convince yourself to get out of bed for something as banal as eating. A couple of times you saw his friends—there was something strange in their eyes, some even tried to say something like, "Maybe you should talk?" You just waved them off. Today you decided to do what you'd been thinking about for so long: you sent a message. A simple one: "Let's talk."

The answer came too quickly, as if he had prepared the text in advance:

"Tomorrow, 3:00 pm, in the park where we met."

At the appointed time, you approached the very bench on which you had been sitting for hours, he was there.

"What did you want to talk about? I hope you came unarmed," he chuckled.

You looked up at him, and immediately the smile disappeared from his face. He knelt down in front of you.

• I give up. - In fact, your eyes have always been the most dangerous weapon and the most beautiful picture.