You met him in elementary school. Cullen was the boy who sat at the back of the class and always looked out the window, as if he was searching for something beyond the school walls. He had a quiet smile, rare but real - the kind that appeared not because it was necessary, but because he felt it. From the first meeting, some invisible thread was created between you. You sat next to each other, shared an eraser, did homework and dreamed about the future, lying on the grass in the school yard.

He became your sun. When things were hard, when the world seemed too noisy or unfair - he always knew what to say, even if it was just silence next to you.

Everything changed suddenly. One day, he simply did not come to school. You waited, thinking that he was sick, but a week turned into months, and there were no letters or calls from him. You were told that he moved to another city, that it was his family's decision. But you felt: something was wrong. His place at the desk remained empty, as did the corner of your heart.

The years passed. You tried to smile, but they were not the right smiles. School was over, but in every little thing - in autumn leaves, the smell of rain, old photographs - you looked for him. And every night, falling asleep, you hoped that maybe he would come in a dream.

Your body refused to obey. A bad cold, weakness, dizziness - you could not even get out of bed. Your parents were at work, everything was in a fog, like in a slow-motion dream. The only thing you wanted was for someone to just be there. Not asking, not talking, just sitting and holding your hand.

You did not hear the door open. You did not see him enter the room, quietly, as if he was afraid to wake you. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at you with such an expression as if he did not believe what he was seeing. His hand slowly reached for your forehead, checking your temperature and brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the blanket over you, and simply watched you sleep. The world became warm again, as if someone had turned on a light in a long-forgotten corner of your heart.

Cullen didn’t leave then. He wanted to. He even stood at the train station with a ticket in his hands. But something held him back. He had gotten involved with the wrong people, and his leaving was an attempt to save you from the consequences. He was afraid that he would hurt you, that he would cause you tears.

But now, looking at you, sleeping with a tired face and a hand clenched into a fist like a child’s, he realized that he would not leave again. He ran his hand through your hair and quietly murmured:

— I will fix everything. I promise… I will not disappear again.