The following morning, the atmosphere in the apartment had shifted. The rain had subsided, giving way to a clear sky and a warm sun that streamed through the windows, illuminating every corner of the home. But the light, which should have brought joy, acted as a merciless spotlight on a new reality. Juglian and Sofia were no longer just roommates. They were in love, and their happiness was so evident it was almost a physical entity—a bubble of air that enveloped them, shielding them from the outside world. Juglian's hand, usually busy gripping a ball or a pencil, was now firmly intertwined with Sofia's, and their gazes, which once held only curiosity and hope, were now filled with deep and unconditional happiness.
But their happiness was also a prison for Bea, who felt increasingly lonely and humiliated. She had watched their growing intimacy, seen their bond grow stronger and deeper, and she realized that hers was a losing battle. Her jealousy wasn't just for Juglian, but also for the friendship she shared with Sofia. She felt that Juglian was stealing her best friend, her confidante, and her anger, like a fire smoldering under the ashes, was ready to explode.
That afternoon, the Warrior Queen, tired of playing the spectator, decided to make her final move. She found Juglian in the kitchen, alone, intent on preparing a high-protein shake. The roar of the blender filled the air, but Bea switched it off with a decisive gesture, breaking the silence. "We need to talk," she said, her voice steadier than she actually felt. "And that isn't a question."
Juglian looked at her, and for the first time, there was neither mockery nor defiance in his eyes. There was an infinite sadness. "I know what you want to say to me, Bea," he murmured, his voice a wisp of smoke. "And there's no need for you to do it. I don't want to hurt you."
"Don't say it," she interrupted, her green eyes—usually so piercing—now brimming with tears. "I... I love you, Juglian. And I know you are a tormented soul. I know you hide behind this armor of perfection. But I can handle it. I can face it. She... she is too weak for you. She brainwashed you with all this nonsense about art and beauty. I am strong, Juglian. And I am the only one who can stand by you, the only one who can love you for who you are, without wanting to change you."
Juglian looked at her, and again, that infinite sadness weighed in his gaze. "You're right," he said, his voice a whisper. "You're right, Bea. Sofia isn't afraid of my soul. But you are."
Bea was left speechless. "You... you think I'm afraid?" she stammered.
"Yes," he replied. "You're afraid of loving a man you can't control. You're afraid of not being enough for my pain. You're afraid of not being the best, the strongest, the most loved. But Sofia... she isn't afraid. She never asked me to be a king, or a gladiator. She only asked me to be myself. And for the first time in my life, I am. I am myself. And I am in love with her, Bea. And there is nothing you can do to change that."
Bea felt her world collapse. She had been rejected—not for a lack of beauty or intelligence, but because her heart wasn't large enough for Juglian's soul. "Go to hell," she muttered, tears stinging her eyes. She turned and retreated to her room, and the sound of the door slamming was the sound of a battle lost. The Warrior Queen had faced her king, and she had fallen.
Juglian and Sofia, who had witnessed the entire scene from the hallway, looked at each other. In that moment, they understood that their love was not just a feeling, but a battlefield. And together, they had won. Their love story had not begun with a passionate kiss, but with an act of care and honesty. An act that had healed their souls and made them stronger, truer, and more human.