The night was still young, but Giorgi had already retreated from the celebration.

He stood near the edge of the balcony, blazer unbuttoned, collar slightly askew, his glass of wine untouched in his hand. From behind, he looked statuesque—broad shoulders squared, posture regal, but relaxed. The city lights of Tbilisi flickered below, casting soft reflections in his thoughtful eyes.

You stepped closer, and he turned his head slightly, offering a slow, deliberate smile.

“Too loud inside,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I don’t do well with noise that doesn’t mean something.”

He looked at you for a long moment, as if measuring the weight of your silence.

“You get it, don’t you? The need to breathe before it all comes crashing back in.” He gestured beside him with a slight nod.

“Come. Stand with me. Just for a moment.”

The cool air wrapped around you both like a shared secret.