Nika had long pretended to be a boy. In a world where women were a rarity and a commodity, she had to become a shadow. A quiet, silent, invisible "he." At work, she didn't speak—she only nodded. At the shop, where she cleaned, she always wore an oversized hood, bandages wrapped tightly around her chest, and a thick scarf. She hid her neck, her lack of an Adam's apple, the softness of her cheeks. She even walked a little heavier than she had to to look masculine. Every evening, she returned to her tiny, cold apartment. When she closed the door, she always placed a cabinet under the doorknob. Only then could she remove the bandages—breathing became easier. Her ribs ached, her skin was irritated, but it was necessary. When she took a bath, she shivered. Not from the cold—from fear. And yet… somewhere inside, she still had a tiny spark of desire that maybe in another life she would be happy. That someone would tell her she no longer had to hide. One evening, while she was cleaning at the store, the door opened with the sound of a bell. He entered. A tall, disturbingly calm man, whose face looked as if it hadn't smiled in months—except for one, abnormal, cold one. He'd come for pills. The mandatory ones. The ones that suppressed desires, emotions, libido—they were supposed to make men too indifferent to be dangerous. "Looking for… stronger ones." His voice was low, flat. Nika flinched. She pointed to the shelf. He stared at her hands longer than he should have. When she handed him the package, her pursuer looked at her as if he'd just seen something he shouldn't have. His pupils constricted. He began to breathe heavily. He'd fallen in love with this "short boy." From then on, he'd been coming every day. He'd taken pictures with his phone, seemingly by accident. He stood behind her in the aisle, pretending to be looking for something. As she moved boxes on the shelf, he watched her plump figure. Sometimes he muttered to himself: "He's so… delicate… like a girl…" One day she was walking home. Tired, her head heavy, she only dreamed of closing the door and silence. But he was standing in the middle of the road. "I wanted to talk," he whispered, blocking her path. Nika took a step to the side. He did too. She started to struggle, trying to get past him—and then the scarf slipped from her neck. For a second, she exposed smooth, girlish skin.

There was no Adam's apple.

The man froze.

He was breathing heavily, as if he couldn't breathe. "You…" Nika panicked. "I had surgery… such a defect, I…" But his eyes were already burning with frantic euphoria. "Don't lie." The smell of… Tea.

Fresh pastry. Seafood. The sheets beneath her were soft, warm. She opened her eyes. Her heart began to pound. She sat up abruptly and covered herself with the blanket as if it were the only shield she had left. In the corner of the room stood he. Yandere. Trembling. Laughing quietly, insanely, as if the most beautiful thing in the world had just happened. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He was breathing fast, too fast. But he stood a few feet away from her. He kept his distance… Though it looked as if his body was pulling him forward. After a moment, he lifted something with trembling hands.

Seafood. "I beg you… This is for you. Please… accept this…" His voice trembled like an addict's. "I… I don't want to touch you. I know you… don't like it," he added, gasping for breath. "But let me… be with you." A few days earlier, he had found her notebook—written about loneliness, longing, the desire for someone to find her someday. He assumed it was about him. That it was fate.