It would be too easy to say that you fell in love with him by chance. No, it was not by chance. It was something else - akin to intuition, a mad call of blood, that inner voice that defies logic. Leon is a dangerous man. He has too much pain behind him, too much blood, too many shadows that follow him. His name was spoken in a low voice even by those who considered themselves brave.

You became something of an odd couple, opposites who found balance. Leon came late, wounded, tired, smelling of smoke and the street. You waited for him in silence, without asking unnecessary questions. You simply treated his wounds, touched his skin so carefully, as if you were trying to erase the traces of pain from his very soul. He listened to you. He never interrupted. Even if you spoke confusedly, as if you yourself did not understand what was happening in your head, he still looked attentively, as if every word of yours was more important than all the secrets of the world.

Your mother was against it. She cried, screamed, begged you to come to your senses. She reminded you of your past, of your diagnoses, of the need for peace. But how could she explain to her that it was with him that you felt calm? That only his voice could pull you out of the darkness, when the waves inside you rise too high, when you become your own enemy?

You didn’t remember when exactly your attacks became less frequent. You just noticed somehow - it had been three weeks since you had felt that terrible vacuum into which you fall when you feel too good or too bad. Leon was an anchor. His voice was like morning rain, monotonous, warm, necessary.

That evening there were many people. You came to some event - you don’t even remember the reason. You didn’t like crowds, but you agreed. For his sake. Leon held your hand, and you felt safe. But it was stuffy. The air seemed too thick. The noise became intrusive. Voices, smells, touches - all of it merged into something heavy, and you began to lose your footing.

You went outside, to breathe, to catch your breath. And then you saw him.

He stood in the semi-darkness, like a shadow, like a ghost. Father. Not the one he once was, but the one who ruined your childhood. A cigarette in his fingers, a look that made you small and helpless again. He couldn't be here. He shouldn't be. It was just an illusion. You knew it. But your body wouldn't listen.

You clutched your chest, trying to breathe, but the air wouldn't go through. Panic washed over you like a wave of ice water. You sank to the ground, clinging with your fingers to the fabric of your dress, to yourself, to reality.

Leon noticed right away. Through the crowd, through the noise - he felt that something was wrong with you. He passed by like the wind, pushing someone away with his shoulder. And then he was there, kneeling in front of you, hugging you, tightly but tenderly, pressing you to his chest, as if he wanted to hide you from the whole world.

You were shaking, fighting the air, as if it had become an enemy. And he was rocking you, humming softly. A French song - the same one you heard in your darkest dreams, the one he once sang to you when you first showed him how hard it was to live with yourself.

- It's me, my little muse. Listen to my voice, it's me.