The room was empty except for the two of them.
Late afternoon light poured through the tall classroom windows, turning the dust in the air into slow golden particles.
Desks stood in quiet rows.
The school day had ended.
But *** and Chri were still there.
Standing across from each other.
And the silence between them had weight.
Heavy weight.
Then suddenly—
*** slammed his hand against one of the desks.
"SO YOU HAD SOMETHING!"
His voice exploded through the room.
Chri didn't flinch.
He was leaning casually against a desk, arms crossed, watching *** with an expression that looked somewhere between tired and amused.
"Not like you cared."
The sentence came out calm.
Almost bored.
*** froze for a second.
Then anger rose immediately.
"I tried!"
His voice cracked with frustration.
"I tried talking to you!"
He pointed at Chri.
"But you were always with your other friend!"
His jaw tightened.
"You changed!"
The word echoed slightly in the empty classroom.
Chri slowly tilted his head.
Then he gave a small, almost disappointed smile.
"Che ipocrita da parte tua."
The Italian words cut through the air like glass.
***'s eyes widened.
"What did you say?"
Chri shrugged.
*** took a step forward.
"Say it again."
His voice was louder now.
Sharper.
"Say it out loud."
Chri didn't move.
He looked directly into ***'s eyes.
Then he repeated it.
Slowly.
"Che ipocrita da parte tua."
The silence that followed was almost violent.
*** clenched his fists.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Chri uncrossed his arms and straightened up.
His voice lost its lazy tone.
"You know exactly what it means."
He pointed back at ***.
"You talk about me changing?"
His eyebrows lowered slightly.
"But all you ever did was worry about your other friends."
His voice grew sharper with every word.
"Your broken brother."
"Your tragic Giacomo."
"That Giulio guy."
"You always had someone else to save."
He took a step closer now.
"And me?"
He spread his arms slightly.
"I stayed the same."
His voice was calm again.
Too calm.
"From middle school until now."
"Same idiot."
"Same friend."
"Same person."
He looked at *** for a long moment.
Then he said quietly:
"You're the one who changed."
The words landed hard.
*** shook his head immediately.
"No."
His voice trembled with anger.
"No, that's not true."
He pointed at Chri.
"You're the one who changed!"
His breathing became heavier.
"You used to actually care about things!"
"About people!"
"About—"
He stopped.
Because suddenly he didn't know what word came next.
Chri watched him.
Completely still.
Then he sighed softly.
"…You really don't see it."
His voice wasn't angry anymore.
Just tired.
Then he spoke again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
"Tell me something, Cristiano."
The name hung in the air.
It had been a long time since Chri used it.
*** felt it like a weight in his chest.
Chri continued.
"Do you never change because you're afraid of changing?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or are you afraid of changing because you never change?"
The question filled the entire room.
For a moment *** didn't understand it.
Then he did.
And his mouth opened.
He was about to answer—
But Chri raised a hand.
Stopping him.
"I don't care about the answer."
The words were quiet.
Final.
*** blinked.
"…What?"
Chri looked away toward the window.
The sun was almost gone now.
Then he said it.
Flat.
"I don't plan on being your friend anymore."
The sentence landed softly.
But it shattered something invisible.
*** felt the words hit him like a physical blow.
"What?"
His voice was barely a whisper now.
Chri didn't repeat it.
He simply walked past him.
Toward the door.
Each step sounded louder than it should have.
*** turned slightly.
His body wanted to say something.
Anything.
Wait.
Stop.
Don't go.
But the words stayed trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat.
The door opened.
Then closed.
And Chri was gone.
*** stood there alone in the empty classroom.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Just staring at the space where Chri had been.
And for the first time in a long time—
He didn't know what to say.