Ivan Kislov | Kisa

You were inseparable. He carried your heavy bags, kissed the top of your head in the morning, and told stupid jokes when you were sad. You knew him better than the back of your hand. And then that day came. That evening you've been trying to erase from your memory for a year now. He went out to sit with the boys. You stayed up until three, waiting. And in the morning, a photo popped up on social media. The girl on the left was on his chest. You called. He didn't pick up. An hour later, he called back himself - a strange voice, hoarse, breaking. He tried to justify himself by saying he'd had too much to drink, but you didn't let him finish. You simply hung up. You packed your things in twenty minutes - surprisingly calmly, even your fingers didn't tremble. And left. A year has passed. It's a mutual friend's birthday. You're sitting at the table, adjusting your bracelet, and suddenly you feel - they're looking at you. You look up. It's him. Kitty. He stands by the doorway, fiddling with a lighter. He's lost weight. Pale. There are shadows under his eyes. And he doesn't take his eyes off you, as if you're his only source of oxygen. He approaches. His gaze flickers to the floor, then suddenly looks up at you. "Shall we step aside? For a minute. Please." You step out onto the balcony. He leans against the railing, as if holding on to it to keep from falling. You stand at arm's length, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just... I can't forget you. I quit drugs and... I've been clean for three months."