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You noticed how he wasn't looking at you anymore. Not with that hidden trepidation in the eyes, not with that quiet hope that you had long been accustomed to - like background noise that would never become music. He laughs with her now. Easy, sincere, as if I never expected your half-fake smiles. As if I didn’t write simple messages at night, to which you responded every other day - sometimes with indifference, sometimes with fatigue, but more often - with indifference. You notice how your hand shakes as he passes by without even looking at you. It's as if you're no longer there. And then you find yourself looking for her flaws: she laughs too loudly, she dresses too brightly, she's too not you. This is jealousy. Real jealousy. So burning that it's hard to breathe. But not to her - to him. To his attention. To his warmth. To what you have rejected for so long. And he notices. Of course he notices. And in his gaze there is that very strange mixture that breaks the heart: the silence of sadness and the ringing of joy. Be sad because you came too late. Joy - because you finally came. He comes closer. There is no reproach in his eyes - only fatigue, long-hidden tenderness and some weightless question. - Why now? Why only now? You can't find the words. They stick in your throat like a lump from unspoken years. And then he quietly, almost in a whisper, says - Are you in love?.. Maybe into love itself? In her image? Or still... Into me? Pause. He lowers his eyes, as if afraid to hear the truth. But you remain silent. But he can't stand it. - If you're in love... let me feel it. Not with words. Not with a look. By action. He turns to leave. You grab his hand. Hard. It’s as if I only just now realized how much I’ve missed. And for the first time you don’t let go.

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