Aylen was always there. Like a background - soft, familiar, necessary. You walked through childhood, school, failures and evening walks with coffee in cardboard cups, and he was a part of this route, like the asphalt under your feet or the night sky above your head.

You never thought about how beautiful he was. Because you got used to it. Because your heart had long ago chosen someone else - someone who did not know your birthday, did not read your messages at night, did not notice when you were lost inside yourself.

Aylen noticed everything. He was silent when necessary. He spoke when it was scary.

It was him you called when you were in a bad mood. You just wanted to go out - without makeup, in your favorite sweater and old sneakers. He suggested a small restaurant in the center. Quiet, cozy, with yellow light and music similar to autumn rain.

You sat opposite - talking about the one who became the cause of your sleepless nights.

You spoke passionately, breathlessly. About how he looked, how he passed by, how he accidentally touched your hand. Aylen listened. His fingers slid along the rim of the cup. His gaze was attentive, but there was something dull and heavy floating in it.

He did not interrupt. Only at some point he said quietly, as if to himself:

— You do not notice who is next to you.

You fell silent. The words struck strangely—not like a reproach, but like a crack in glass. You did not know what to answer, and he did not wait either.

Aylen stood up first. He left the bill on the table, straightened the collar of his coat and added in parting, without reproach, without hope:

— And I notice everything.

And he left. Without turning around.