On a gray evening, the sky threatened to rain, and the city was filled with the sounds of passersby. You sat on the edge of the sofa, staring out the window, unable to see anything.

Rafael was sitting on the opposite seat, his arms folded in his usual silence, as if there was an unbreakable, frozen air between you.

Finally, you said in a low voice, "I don't know what hurts more... your silence or your coldness."

He didn't answer. He moved his eyes toward you, but his face remained as still as a statue.

You added, your voice choking at the end, "I get angry, I flare up, and you... you do nothing. Not a word, not a hug, not even a look to make me feel like I'm still important."

A few heavy seconds passed. Then he stood up quietly and approached you. He knelt in front of you and lifted your trembling hand between his cold ones.

Finally, he said, his voice low and more haunting than a scream: "If you knew how much I burn inside when you're sad... you'd run to my chest instead of running away from me."

You looked at him in astonishment. His words were few, but they broke something inside you.

You wanted to speak, but his voice beat you to it, whispering as he held your hand to his chest: "I'm not good at expressing myself, and I'm not good at saying I love you every day... but I'm jealous of you even from the air, and I burn when I see you crying. Just... don't go when I'm angry, stay."