He Is Not Himself

Chapter Ten. The Search. The Fear. The First Message.

Night. Room. Laptop.

I sat in my room. At the desk by the window. Outside — the city. Foreign. Huge. Indifferent.

The laptop lay in front of me. Closed. I had been staring at it for an hour.

My fingers trembled.

"Just open it," I told myself. "Just look. It doesn't mean anything."

But I knew what it meant.

I knew that if I opened it, there would be no going back.

The stone lay on the dance floor in that hall. I had left it there. But it was still here. In every cell of my body.

I opened the laptop.

The Search

I typed words I had never typed before.

"Meet a man."

My fingers trembled. I pressed Enter.

The page loaded. Links. Sites. Photos.

Men. So many men. Beautiful. Ordinary. Older. Younger. Smiling. Serious.

I looked at them. My heart pounded. My throat was dry.

"These are them," I thought. "People like me. They exist. They are real."

I had never seen them before. Not in real life. Not on the news. Only in my dreams.

And now they were here. On the screen.

I couldn't look away.

The Fear

But I couldn't click the link.

My finger hovered over the button. My heart beat so loudly I heard it in my ears.

"What if someone finds out?" I thought. "What if my father sees? What if my mother?"

They were far away. In another city. But the fear was inside me. It wouldn't leave.

"I can't," I told myself. "This is wrong. This is dirty. I'm not like that."

But I knew the truth.

I was like that.

I had always been like that.

I clicked the link.

The Site

The site opened. Simple. Clean. Profiles. Photos. Names.

I scrolled down. Looked at faces. Read descriptions.

"Looking for a friend."

"Want serious relationship."

"Just want to talk."

And one profile.

It stopped my breath.

Tall. Dark hair. Brown eyes. A smile — warm, but a little sad.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Maxim, 18. Student. Love books, music, long walks. Looking for someone who isn't afraid to be themselves."

I read the last line three times.

He was my age. Not older. Not wiser. Just like me.

We were the same.

I read it again. "Looking for someone who isn't afraid to be themselves."

I was afraid to be myself.

My whole life, I had been afraid to be myself.

Registration

My fingers moved on their own.

Name. Age. City.

"About me."

I stared at the cursor. It blinked on the white field.

"What do I write?" I thought. "That I'm scared? That I don't know who I am? That I've never done this before?"

I wrote: "I'm looking too. For someone who isn't afraid. I'm still afraid. But I want to stop."

My finger pressed "Send."

My heart stopped.

"What have I done? What have I done?"

I wanted to close the laptop. Wanted to forget. Wanted to turn back time.

But the message was already sent.

The Wait

I waited.

One minute. Two. Ten.

Every second lasted an eternity.

I stared at the screen. At the empty chat. At the word "waiting."

"He won't answer," I thought. "Who needs me? Some scared boy from the provinces who doesn't even know what he wants."

I wanted to close the laptop. Wanted to turn it off. Wanted to run.

But I stayed sitting.

Because if I ran now, I would run for the rest of my life.

The Reply

The screen blinked.

A new message.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Hi. I'm Maxim. I'm 18 too. I'm not afraid. But I used to be like you. One day I decided to stop being afraid. It was the best decision of my life. If you want — we can talk. Take your time. I'll wait."

I read it three times. I'm 18 too. He's my age. He's like me. He used to be like me.

I didn't know what to reply.

My fingers trembled.

"Thank you," I typed. Then deleted it.

"I don't know what to say," I typed. Deleted it too.

"I'm scared," I typed. Left it. Sent it.

Three Words

"I'm scared."

Three words. Simple. Small.

They changed everything.

I looked at the screen. The cursor blinked.

"I know," the reply came. "I know. But you already took the first step. You're here. You wrote. That's already a lot."

I exhaled. I hadn't noticed I was holding my breath.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"Now — you just be yourself. Slowly. Without rushing. You have time. And I'm not going anywhere."

I stared at these words. I didn't recognize myself.

I wasn't the boy who was afraid of the dark.

I wasn't the teenager who hated himself.

I just was.

And that was enough.

What Comes Next?

I didn't know that in a month, I would meet him in person.

That he would be taller than in the photo. That his voice would be warm. That his hands would be as big as in my dreams.

That he would take my hand, and I wouldn't pull away.

That he would say, "I knew you'd come."

That I would stop being afraid.

That for the first time in my life, I would let myself feel.

But that came later.

For now — I sat in front of my laptop, stared at the screen, and smiled.

For the first time in years, I wasn't running.

I was just waiting.