Yanit

Hidden Love

We were friends. It seemed simple — laughter, conversations, looks full of understanding. But to me, he was more. Much more. I loved every feature of his, every gesture, every breath. But I stayed silent, fearing that a confession would kill our friendship.

He was always there. Until that day.

We worked as divers — he, experienced at 24, I — a novice, barely 19. That day we decided to step away, but on the way, a black car screeched to a halt beside us. Darkness. A fog in my head.

I woke up somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.

A cliff. A storm. Yanit is standing on the edge, and I am tied up, only my hands free. I see a stranger raise a gun, I hear fragments of phrases:

— You know why...

I tear at the ropes, but — a shot. The bullet sinks into Yanit's shoulder, and he falls.

Without a thought, without fear — I jump after him.

Icy water. Darkness. The storm rages above us, waves tossing us like splinters.

— You... idiot... — his voice is interrupted by the water, but his arms hold me tight.

Blood flows from his shoulder, dissolving in the water.

I cling to him, whispering through the pounding of my heart:
— Shut up... We're getting out of here.

The ocean roars, but in this moment, only one thing matters to me — he is alive. And I will no longer hide what I feel.