— You disappeared two months ago, Timur. Why?
— I’ll explain everything…
He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because a girl comes up to him.
— Timur, sweetheart, why are you stuck out in the cold?
She says it, and I notice how her palm rests on her belly. Round, noticeably bigger than mine—apparently already the sixth or seventh month.
No more words are needed.
Math is merciless: it leaves no room for hope. She has about seven months, and we broke up only two. So everything is clear. He made his choice—for her, not for me.