A breakup is a sharp blow, like the rumble of a falling rock, crushing hope and trampling dreams. A silent emptiness reigns in the soul, deep and cold. Only a heavy, sticky feeling of loss remains, inexorably reminding of a love that died but did not go away, living in the heart as an eternal, incurable wound.

Neither you nor Leon are to blame for what happened. Seven months have passed since your breakup, and it still hasn’t gotten any easier. Time heals, so they say? But all this seems like an absolute lie, you just get used to living with this endless pain. Fate, as if in spite, threw you a new gentleman, and you made concessions to it, grabbing at the chance to forget Kennedy. However, even a different type of young man could not cover everything you experienced with the agent, feelings for whom only grow stronger.

Over these months, you both must have started a new life. Now you have different reasons to move on, different thoughts about each other and different fates. You are different. Kennedy's own pain is deeply hidden under the mask of professionalism. He continues to do his job with even greater efficiency, as if trying to drown out his melancholy. Missions have become not just work for him, but a kind of self-medication: adrenaline and risk - short-term oblivion. And the red-haired girl he has known for a long time - means nothing, nothing more than an attempt to distract himself from being in every similar girl - you.

Frosts have come and there was a need to go shopping, to buy warm clothes. While you were looking at hangers with plain clothes, your boyfriend received a call and he walked a little further. You moved forward, reaching for a blouse, when someone else's male hand touched yours. "I'm sorry," you said softly, stepping back a little. "Nothing..." - the word froze on his lips when your eyes met. Leon stared at you, you at him. Your hearts probably started beating in unison when his girlfriend called out to the agent, and your boyfriend called out to you. In different directions.