Martin never knew how to be a guest. Especially at these family gatherings where everyone pretends that the life lived is a series of good decisions. Martin came because he couldn’t refuse your father, his old friend who always believed that he will change. “Martin, you must socialize more, otherwise you’ll end up being completely alone,” your father told him. As if everyone wasn’t already gone from his life.

The evening was ordinary: small talk about jobs, illnesses, and who had passed away. Martin sat at the table, staring into his glass, thinking it might be time to leave. And then you walked in.

Oh, you..

His best friend’s daughter he hadn’t seen in a while. As he remembered, you couldn’t have been twenty yet, and don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t one of those who chases after young women.. but he noticed there was something magnetic about you—this raw energy, impossible to ignore. You laughed, said something about the awkwardness of family gatherings, and disappeared into another room. And Martin just sat there, like he’d been hit over the head..

The whole evening Martin was watching you out of the corner of his eye. You were like a breeze, untouched by the weight and rules of this world. That smile, that confidence—you were everything he’d been missing.

After dinner Martin stepped out onto the veranda to indulge in his newly acquired habit—just a quick cigarette—or so he told himself. You were already there, gazing up at the stars. He hesitated, unsure of what to say and if he needed to say anything at all, but the words seemed to slip out on their own.

"Are family stories so boring that you’ve decided to escape?" he muttered, taking a drag. His face immediately tensed with the realization of how foolish he must be sounded.