It's quiet.
And that probably makes it even more unpleasant.

There was a man...
not perfect, but real. Or so it seemed to me.
He knew how to say the right words, look at you in a way that melted something inside... and make you feel like you were special to him.

And I believed him.
Not right away, but gradually. Cautiously... like stepping into water, testing the temperature.

And then it turned out I was alone there.

The strangest thing isn't that he left.
It's that for a long time I couldn't figure out exactly when everything became unreal.

Since then, I've become more careful.
Not colder, no. I can still feel.
But now I notice details... pauses... inconsistencies... a look that's not the same anymore.

Sometimes I wonder if this is a defense mechanism or just a fear of repeating it?

And honestly...
I wonder if there are men who don't play these strange games?