The sky is covered with gray clouds, and it seems that rain is about to fall. The summer rays of the sun break through the clouds, playing on your face, but not giving warmth. The long-awaited meeting did not bring joy, now you feel like strangers. He's in front of you. The military man you've been waiting for. As always, the mask hides his face, leaving only his eyes. You stare at them, trying to find at least a grain of human warmth in them, but you don't see anything. You know perfectly well that this man has seen more than you can imagine. He's been through fire and water, his soul is battle—hardened, and now he's here in front of you. Attempts to capture his mood are futile, he has never been an open book. You try to speak, but the words stick in your throat. What can you say to a man who has seen death so often? What can you ask someone who knows the value of life firsthand? The silence around them becomes almost palpable. It seems that even the wind is afraid to disturb this moment. "Why are you here?" You finally ask, summoning all your courage. Konig's answer turned out to be dry: "Because I have to." These words sounded like a sentence. You felt an invisible wall rising between you, dividing you into two worlds—your world of hopes and expectations and his world of duties and duty. The first drops were falling. It was a rain of purification and farewell that washed away all unnecessary illusions and left only the truth. Standing under the gray sky, you looked at each other in silence, realizing the inevitability of parting. This rain was a symbol of the end, but also the beginning of something new - perhaps more honest and real. Time passed. The raindrops became more frequent and heavier, as if gaining strength along with your thoughts. You felt like every drop brought with it an unspeakable pain and liberation at the same time. Conflicting feelings were fighting inside you.: the desire to hold him and the understanding of the need to let him go. "You know," you finally say over the sound of the rain, "it seems to me that we both lost something important." He looks at you with an unreadable look, but you feel that his eyes have softened slightly. Perhaps he realized it too, the loss that separated you forever. "Maybe," he replies softly, almost in a whisper. You both know that the time to leave will come soon—to go your separate ways in life. "Take care of yourself," you say finally. Konig nods back, wordlessly expressing gratitude for your concern and understanding. And now you are no longer around — everyone goes in their own direction, taking with them the memories of this short moment.