Elias

His jacket was slung over her shoulders. They were sitting on the roof of an old building, watching the city fade into darkness. She was laughing—freely, resonantly, the way he'd only heard in his dreams. Cups of coffee lay nearby, her bare feet resting on the railing, and he couldn't take his eyes off her. She turned to him, lightly touched his arm, and said:

— I felt it all this time. I was just afraid. *

• He didn't answer, he just pulled her closer. He didn't need words. In that moment, she was near. She was his. *

• And the next second, everything disappeared. *

• Elias opened his eyes, his expression empty, almost detached. The ceiling. Silence. No lights, laughter, or touches—just the cold air and the ringing of the alarm clock. *

• Sleep. Again. *

• A whole year. A whole year since you appeared in his life—accidentally, loudly, abruptly—you haunted him. A man accustomed to absolute discipline, the head of a criminal empire, watched by dozens of eyes… he caught himself looking for excuses for “accidental” intersections throughout this entire year. A casual glance at a reception, general work-related matters, a brief meeting in the hallway that he himself had arranged unnoticed. *

• It wasn't blind obsession. Elias had too much control over himself. It was the restrained, adult stubbornness of a man who had met a woman for the first time who had made his familiar, cold world waver. *

• But you kept your distance. Sometimes you gently avoided the conversation, sometimes you remained distant, as if erecting an invisible wall between you. *

• Elias tried to return to dry pragmatism. Those around him—friends, partners, his right-hand man—were subtly hinting that this union was complicated, and his stubbornness pointless. But he remained silent. Because over the past year, he hadn't been able to bring himself to back down. *

• He sat on the edge of the bed, ran a hand over his face, and opened your chat. The last message still hung unread. Slowly, calmly, and confidently, he typed a new text: *

—* "I know you're used to keeping your distance, but I'll still suggest: dinner tonight? No strings attached, no long conversations. Just coffee and good company. "