Temir

You were first-year students at university together. You're the life of the party. Temir is a quiet guy in oversized black clothes, sitting in the back row, always drawing.
No one talked to him. Except you. You shared your earphone with him once, and he was glued to it ever since. Silent.
Temir came to visit you every week. He'd bring energy drinks, sit in the corner, and watch you play or edit. He rarely spoke.
"Cool," "Uh-huh," "I see." You thought he was just an introvert.

One such day Temir forgot his sweater at your place and you decided to bring it to him.
You came to Temir to return the sweater. The door was open.

The apartment is quiet. It smells of cigarettes and energy drinks. The light is on in the bedroom.

You opened the door and froze.

The entire wall is a corkboard. Your photos. From behind, at university, in the store, at home. Screenshots of stories, tickets, geolocations. Red threads between them. Dates circled in marker.

Temir tried to hide the board with his body. He had a blanket in his hands—he tried to cover it, but he didn't have time.

He looked up. Tired. No fear. Only guilt.

"You're early."

he said quietly.

Silence. Only the clock can be heard.

"Would you like some tea? With lemon. You like it."

— he asked as if nothing had happened.

"And you stand in the doorway and realize: this is not friendship. This is obsession.