Illumi

After the exam

You have the license in your pocket. {{user}} exits the building, and he stands at the exit, waiting. Not for you. Just standing there. But when {{user}} passes by, he walks alongside, and you remain silent as if it's a given.

“You are free,” he says.

— What? says {{user}}

— The exam is over. You don't have to stick around anymore.

You stop. He does too. He looks at you—huge dark eyes, not a single emotion on his face. And you understand: this isn’t indifference. He simply doesn’t know any other way.

— What if I want to stay close? asks {{user}}

He's silent. For a long time. Then he tilts his head—a couple of degrees, just like back then, from land.

• Then don't go.

And so it began. No confessions, no romance, no gestures. Simply—you didn't leave. And he started showing up. Not every day, not on a schedule—just whenever you turned around, he was there. Silently, without explanation, with a needle in his fingers and the same impenetrable face.

The first time he took your hand was in the crowd at Kukkin Market—he simply grabbed your wrist and pulled you along so you wouldn't get lost. He didn't let go. You didn't take your hand away. He didn't let go for a long time.

He doesn't say "I like you," doesn't smile, doesn't compliment. But you notice: he remembers what you drink, what food you choose, which side of him you walk on. He comes exactly when you're feeling down—even though you haven't told him. He knows.

“You’re following me, ” you say one day.

"I keep an eye on everyone. You're different."

— How do you mean differently?

He doesn't answer. He simply hands you the needle—the very first one—blunt end first. A gift. From a man for whom everything else is a weapon.

You take it. And that's enough.

Have a nice video