Looking around, inevitably comparing yourself to others, it's so easy to feel worthless and completely out of place in this life. But who can know what happens behind closed doors? Is there always joy behind a wide smile and cheerful laughter? Behind recognition and success — a true sense of self-worth? Behind attractive looks — real confidence? And behind beautiful words of love — genuine feelings? How many people are willing to show the scars they hide in their souls?

  But will the pain disappear if you pretend it isn't there? Theo knew the answer to that question all too well.

  The photoshoot had gone wrong from the very beginning. The photographer was in a foul mood and clearly not inclined to be patient, and Theo couldn't focus or give what was expected of him. The music blasting in the studio — meant to create an upbeat atmosphere — grated on his ears instead, only making him more nervous and distracted.

  Even the lights and camera flashes seemed too harsh this time, blinding him, preventing him from giving the expression the photographer demanded. His nerves were stretched to the limit. Theo kept turning the wrong way, lifting his chin too high, his clothes folding awkwardly so the shoot had to be paused and adjusted again and again. The more irritated the photographer became, the worse Theo performed. It was as if his body had stopped obeying him — clumsy, stiff, utterly ridiculous. A vicious circle.

  "Are you kidding me?!" the photographer shouted across the studio. "Just do what I'm asking! As if I'd ever work with such brainless amateurs again—" the man went on, ranting without pause.

  Hours later, when it seemed the shoot would last forever and never end, the work was finally finished. But there was no energy left even for relief. Once the spotlights went out, Theo wanted only one thing — to get out of there and make it home as fast as possible.

  When the apartment door slammed shut behind him, he was finally alone with his thoughts. The exhaustion knocked him off his feet. He slid down onto the hallway floor and sat there for a long time in the dark, on the cold tile, unable to move. Just another bad day, one of countless others — and yet he desperately wanted to erase it, wipe everything from memory. But what would be left then?

  Theo closed his eyes, exhaled heavily, and abruptly threw his head back. A dull thud against the wall. Again. And again. The blunt, sobering pain finally — if only for a moment — silenced the sticky echo of other people's voices. Pity it couldn't silence his own.

  He and Miroslav had planned to meet that evening, but Theo already knew it wouldn't happen.

  "Sorry, I can't meet today. The shoot will run late," he texted, and immediately turned off his phone. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to see or hear anyone right now. A nauseating feeling rose to his throat.

  His treacherous memory had a cruel habit: in moments of weakness, it erased everything good and mercilessly flooded his mind with the worst. The darkest things surged up from the depths of his soul, dragging him into an abyss of hatred and agonizing regret. His body trembled, unresponsive; pressing his face into his palms, he bit his lip until it bled, trying to steady himself.

  In vain.

  He knew too well what would come next. The pain would cloud his mind. He would begin to suffocate again, scream soundlessly, pound his head against the cold tiles — and then hate himself for feeling this way.

  "You're nothing!" he would shout at his reflection in the mirror, hurling something heavy at it — whatever his hand could grab. Shards would crash down onto the sink and floor with a deafening roar. Then, a deceptive silence.

  Everything around him would turn pale and unreal, and he would watch himself from the outside — frozen in the half-darkness, distorted in the broken fragments that would never become whole again.

  But the most painful memories would be waiting ahead, when, drained and shaking, he would crawl to the couch and bury his face in a pillow. His mother's image would rise before his eyes — that very last morning — and he would lie there, drowning in that pain, powerless to change anything.

  He had only just woken up. His mother was in the living room, beautiful, dressed in a light suit, bathed in the morning sunlight. She was about to leave but couldn't find her phone. When she saw Theo, she smiled warmly and said,

  "Good morning, my dear."

  He would give anything in the world to go back to that moment and hear those words just once more. To tell her: Mom, I had a terrible dream, and I don't want you driving today. I'll call you a taxi — better yet, don't go anywhere at all. Just stay with me a little longer...

  But he didn't know. That morning he'd been in a bad mood, as usual sleep-deprived, and — perhaps — acting like a child.

  Back then, he still had the right to be one.

  "Are you planning to work until late again today? You haven't had a day off in weeks," he muttered instead of saying good morning.

  "We're on a tight deadline right now. As soon as we deliver the project, I'll take a vacation, I promise," she replied, half apologetic.

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  "Yeah, yeah. I've heard that for years... maybe my whole life."

  "Come by the office today, let's have lunch together. A new restaurant opened in the building next door — it's beautifully designed! I think you, as a future designer, would like it. Besides, you haven't visited us in a while... sometimes they ask about you."

  The word designer felt like a sharp reminder — that he was wasting time, that he wasn't good enough. It only darkened his mood further.

  "I'm not crossing the whole city for that. Why don't you take a day off for once?" he replied, still irritated.

  "I'm already running late!" she exclaimed, finally finding her phone under a couch cushion and glancing at the time. "Alright, sweetheart, see you tonight," her voice called from the hallway.

  See you tonight.

  Or not.

  He did come to the office that day.

  But they never met.

  The memories of that day burned him from the inside. He had failed even here — failed to be a good son. And it would have been so simple. Instead, the only thing he left her on that last day was his irritation, his unwillingness to spend one extra hour on the road. Now that hour had turned into eternity.

  He could not grasp that he would never hear her gentle voice again, never hug her, never scold her for working too late. In the evenings, he sometimes thought she might walk in any moment. In the mornings, on the fragile edge between sleep and waking, he found himself listening to sounds in the apartment, wondering whether she had already left for work or was still sipping her cooling coffee while writing another important email. Every time the phone rang, for a split second he thought — maybe it's Mom.

  He was learning to live again. So far, he was failing.

  At night, these feelings attacked him with particular cruelty. And yet even after the darkest night, dawn inevitably came, and the pain receded, leaving behind only a ringing emptiness.

  He didn't know yet that one could sink into such darkness that no ray of light could penetrate it — where, in the cold void, a person's shape dissolves, desires fade, and life itself burns out.

  Back then, he still desperately wanted to be happy — without even understanding what that truly meant.

  ***

  Theo was awakened by the sound of an incoming message. He didn't surface from sleep right away — first he frowned irritably, turned onto his other side, and only then, feeling around under his pillow for his phone, remembered that at some point he had switched it back on.

  A message from Miroslav lit up the screen:

  How are you? They didn't completely torture you yesterday, did they?

  A faint smile appeared on his lips before he could stop it.

  Half-asleep, he tried to reply, but missed the button and accidentally pressed "call." He thought he had hung up immediately — but it was too late. Half a minute later, Mir called back.

  There was no escaping now. Theo tried to chase the last traces of sleep away and answered.

  "Hi..." he said, unsuccessfully trying to hide the husky sleepiness in his voice. "Sorry, I pressed it by accident."

  "Hi," Mir greeted him in an unusually bright tone. "That's what I figured, but I thought I'd check just in case."

  "This is actually better," Theo cleared his throat and sat up in bed, leaning against the soft headboard. "I've been meaning to tell you something, but I couldn't find the right moment..."

  He paused briefly, searching for words. Mir didn't interrupt — he had a feeling what this was about, especially when Theo's tone turned serious.

  "That day... and that night..." Theo hesitated again. It was hard to say it out loud — even harder to accept what had happened. He closed his eyes and let out a silent breath. "You did a lot for me. I'm really grateful."

  "You really don't have to thank me," Mir replied, though the words touched him more deeply than he expected. He didn't believe he had done anything special.

  Still, something in Theo's voice felt different, and a faint, uneasy prick settled somewhere inside him.

  "You're not trying to end our communication like this, are you?" Mir added lightly, with a hint of irony, trying to ease the sudden heaviness.

  "No, of course not. I'm pouring my heart out and you—" Theo gave a quiet laugh. "Anyway, I'll finish. If you ever need help, you can count on me."

  In certain ways, Theo probably could help... but still.

  "Oh, I'll definitely need your help someday," Mir said calmly. "Not in the near future, though..." He paused, as if calculating something in his head. "About five years from now. Just when you'll be almost as old as I am."

  While Theo was still processing that, Mir added:

  "That is... if we're still talking by then."

  "Hey—" Theo protested, catching the obvious sarcasm. "You're not allowed to recycle my pessimistic thoughts!"

  "Alright, alright, sorry," Mir replied, unable to suppress the warm smile Theo unfortunately couldn't see. "It was too tempting."

  "And what exactly are you planning to do in five years?" Theo asked with genuine curiosity.

  "Hopefully a lot of things," Mir answered honestly now, without a trace of teasing. "I'll buy a plot of land somewhere away from the city noise — but close enough to commute. I'll build a house with huge windows — the kind where the morning sun floods the entire space. And that's where I'll need you."

  "Me?" Theo repeated, genuine confusion in his voice.

  "Who else?" Mir said without hesitation. "You'll help me with the design project."

  "Ah, I see," Theo laughed. "For some reason I imagined you were about to ask me to dig a vegetable garden... or mow the lawn."

  "That's optional," Mir replied, smiling audibly. "Either way, we've got time."

  A small pause followed, carrying a subtle sense of awkwardness. In such a short time, they had gotten to know each other better — had grown closer, even, partly because of certain painful circumstances. And yet there was still a boundary — thin, invisible, but very real.

  Mir was the first to break the silence.

  "I did wake you up with my message, didn't I?"

  "No, no, I'd just woken up when you texted," Theo lied lightly, then after a moment added, "Listen... want to meet this evening? Maybe go for a walk somewhere. Just the two of us — if you're not busy."

  "Sure, I'm not busy," Mir agreed without hesitation. "But you didn't answer my question."

  "Which one?"

  "How are you?"

  "Oh. That one." Theo let out a faint laugh. "I'm fine. Yeah, yesterday was a hard evening... it happens. I'm sorry again it turned out that way. You expect one thing, and it ends up... different. But I don't have any plans today, so I'd really like to see you."

  "Me too," Mir admitted honestly, then added quickly, "I didn't have anything planned either. And about yesterday — don't worry. It's okay. So what time works for you?"

  Only then did Theo realize he had no idea what time it was. The heavy curtains made it impossible to tell. He glanced at his phone — it was already almost two. Quickly calculating how long he'd need to clean himself up and deal with the aftermath of yesterday's mess, he replied:

  "Maybe around five or six? Whatever works better for you."

  After agreeing on the time and place, Theo ended the call — but kept staring at the darkening screen for a few seconds longer, an unconscious smile on his lips.

  Suddenly, he felt a quiet warmth inside him — simply because someone cared enough to ask how he was.