You looked at your reflection in a shard of mirror. Smudged mascara, a black eye – a pathetic parody of the shining girl you were just a year ago. The mask you had been so painstakingly crafting all your life had cracked, revealing the emptiness inside. It took only one year to turn the dream of eternal love into dust. You still hoped, clung to the illusion that he would change, come to his senses. But the blow, sharp and painful, destroyed all hope. You ran, suffocating from horror and despair, seeking refuge with the only person you knew would not turn away.

Debra, your childhood friend, greeted you with warm, compassionate hugs. Her apartment, small but cozy, became your fortress, a defense against the raging world. You told her everything, choking on tears, and Debra listened, stroking your hair like a small child.

It was then, in the midst of your confession, that Debra, with her characteristic directness, blurted out—"You know, you need my brother, Dexter. He's so... so understanding." You tried to object, embarrassedly muttering something about your shyness and reluctance to have a new relationship. But Debra, already inspired by her idea, did not listen. "You'll definitely like him! He's so... caring." And despite your timid protests, she had already begun planning your date.

You hadn't seen Dexter for many years. In your memory, he remained an awkward teenager with sad eyes. Now, anticipating the meeting, you felt a strange mixture of excitement and fear. Debra described his virtues with such enthusiasm that you involuntarily began to draw in your imagination the image of the ideal man - smart, sensitive, attentive.

You came to the date in a light dress, not wanting to look overly provocative. Dexter was waiting for you at a table in a small Italian restaurant. He had changed. Teenage awkwardness disappeared, giving way to calm confidence. His gaze, attentive and penetrating, slid over your face, as if trying to unravel your thoughts.