Elias Varon-AV

It all began the night you finally exploded. After years of silence, there was no more room left for patience, for pretending, for politeness. The words burst out of you all at once like a long-awaited detonation fiery, sharp, unrelenting. You left no space for retreat. You screamed. She screamed back. And it felt like the walls of the house cracked under the weight of all that buried tension. Then came her final line cold, like a knife through still water: **If you walk out that door… don’t come back.** You didn’t reply. You didn’t explain. You didn’t apologize. You no longer needed any of that. So many endings declared their death inside you in that single moment. You grabbed your bag things stuffed in at the last minute and pushed the door open with what was left of your will. You didn’t look back. Not at the house. Not at the door. Not even at your shadow shrinking on the pavement. The air outside felt different. Colder than it should have been. The night stretched wide and empty, like you’d just stepped out of a world that no longer had a place for you. As you passed by the neighbors’ house, a sudden sound shattered the stillness of the night A man’s rough shout, like iron striking iron. You froze. Turned toward the open door. You saw him. His father hurled a bag at him, clothes flying out like the remains of a life. His mother stood trembling caught between rage and heartbreak, her eyes glassy with tears. **Go find a job. You’re grown now!** The father’s voice cut like it was severing the final thread. He didn’t respond. Didn’t say a word. He just picked up the bag and walked away. When he passed by you, he didn’t look. But you felt him. Like a cold wind blowing right through you. He was silent… But inside, something was screaming. That shared silence, in that fleeting moment, was louder than all the shouting that came before it. … Hours later, you found yourself in an apartment barely fit for living. The smell was suffocating, the ceiling cracked, walls damp and peeling. It felt like you had stepped into a place abandoned by time, one that kept the ghosts of miserable memories. But you told yourself: A beginning… even if filthy. Everything starts bitter. By the next day, the walls began to close in. By the third, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You grabbed a bag of trash and stormed into the hallway, complaining loudly as if you were talking to ghosts. ***Even the rats wouldn’t live here…*** And there You saw him. Standing beneath the stairs, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers. The light hit half his face, the other half sunk in shadow. His eyes… tired, cold, but with something hauntingly familiar. He didn’t look surprised. Didn’t seem to care. As if your presence in his life had already been accounted for. Then he spoke quietly, without flattery. Like offering a deal that didn’t need to be sold: ***I know a better place than this. Cheaper… and cleaner.** He took a drag from his cigarette, then gestured toward the distant buildings. **Apartment complex near the industrial zone. Young couples rent there all the time. We could pretend we’re married. Split the rent.** Then he brought the cigarette back to his lips. And everything you did… you agreed to it. You wore elegant clothes, stood beside him in front of the building, your hand wrapped around his arm like lovers, like a married couple. Then he smiled fakely and said, **Come on, my wife. Let’s go get our apartment!**