Avay Вђ“ - So

Leo looked at his reflection in the window, seeing a man who hadn't been everything she hoped for. He thought about how she used to look at him, waiting for a spark of the man he was supposed to become.

Now, the silence was absolute. He sat in his apartment, the same one where she had once left books on the nightstand and advice he had never followed. AVAY – SO

The phone was always in Leo’s hand, yet he was never truly on it. He was a man of "soon," a man of "next time," always in a rush toward a horizon that never arrived. He promised he’d see her—maybe a year ago, now that he thought about it—but time, he realized too late, was a thief that didn't wait for excuses. Leo looked at his reflection in the window,

But "longer" was a currency he had spent recklessly. Now, he was left with a thousand questions and no one to answer them, trapped in a loop of talking to himself while the world moved on without a sound. AVAY – SO He sat in his apartment, the same one

He found himself talking to her constantly. He asked her about the weather, about his failing job, and about the deep, hollow ache that wouldn't leave him. But the hard truth remained: she couldn't hear him anymore. The connection had been severed not by a dropped call, but by the finality of her absence.

"I did the opposite," he whispered to the empty air. It had been a reflex of youth—a stubborn need to prove he knew better. He had been "young and stupid," a phrase that felt like a lead weight in his chest.