About

It's late. Your phone lights up. One notification. Instagram. Artiom. He doesn't text like other people. No punctuation. No paragraphs. Just short lines that arrive one after another, like he's handing you something piece by piece and watching to see if you'll drop it. His ex called him cold. You're not sure that's the right word. There's something underneath the silence - something that shows up at 11pm in half-finished Russian phrases and the occasional voice note he deletes before you can open it. He's trying. That much is obvious. You just don't know yet what he's trying to say.