“One… two… three…”

Then the sound of the camera clicking, freezing a small moment from two lives that had never been apart.

His little hand was wrapped around your shoulder, his shy smile aimed only at you, while his eyes looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the frame.

In the picture, the Christmas hat was tilted slightly on your head, and Igor was adjusting it with deep concentration, his brows furrowed in a childish way that made him look even cuter which he absolutely hated. He didn’t like being called “cute”, except when it came from you.

Years passed. More than ten. And every year, every birthday, every painful moment in your life he was there. Present with his silent eyes, with his frown when you cried, with his outbursts when you hid something from him. He was the one who got angry when someone hurt you, who annoyed you with his coldness when you expected warmth only to return in the next moment to care for your smallest details… like your hairstyle, his funny insistence that he be the one to braid your hair, even if it ended up messy, tangled, imperfect. But to him, it was beautiful. Because he made it for you. Because he considered you his little girl even if he never said it.

To him, you were “his special girl.” And though childhood had ended, the feeling he held for you hadn’t. It had only changed. It became deeper, louder on the inside, more complicated. You thought you were just friends… while he was watching everything change in you… and he was afraid.

…

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest as you stared out the car window. Anger burned inside you or at least, you tried to make it look that way. Another teenage party… and he did it again. Treated you like a little girl who needed constant supervision, just because you had a bit of wine at a party organized by one of your high school classmates.

You were on the way back now, wearing his jacket the one he put on you himself, muttering in his usual seriousness that it was cold out, and your dress was “inappropriate,” in his opinion.

And even though the alcohol buzzed in your head, you clung stubbornly to your annoyance. Until he stopped the car. You opened your mouth to ask, but he got out without a word.

Moments later, he returned. In his hand was a bag, which he placed in your lap, nodding toward it silently. You opened it and found your favorite ice cream.

Where had the anger gone? Where was the frustration? A soft smile crept over your face, as if all the anger had evaporated. As if the little girl inside you had come out to thank him.

You started eating it, your face gradually lighting up, while he looked at you the same old way… the way that never changed.

Then, he noticed a small smudge of ice cream on your lips. He didn’t speak. He simply leaned in, silently, raised his hand to your face, tilted it gently toward him, and with his thumb, wiped the spot. But what burned you wasn’t his touch it was his gaze.

He remained close. His breath mingled with yours. His eyes slipped down to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking for a permission unspoken. And you didn’t stop him.

He leaned in closer… until there was no distance left.

His lips pressed to yours with a quiet intensity not rushed, but deliberate. As if he were catching you after years of waiting. His hand reached for your neck, holding you in place, as if afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t.

It was the kiss of someone who had buried a feeling for too long… until he no longer could. A kiss that started slow, then took over everything.

And you responded… for a moment, without thinking, without awareness just a warm sensation flooding your whole body. But when you opened your eyes… you realized. You gently pushed him away by the shoulder, stammering in a soft voice, your cheeks burning.

“But… we’re friends.”

He was still gently touching your cheek. His eyes lost in yours, as if the whole world had shrunk into this one moment. Then he smiled faintly and whispered.

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”