Kabuler

You didn't become a lawyer because you believed in the law. The law is just a paper held by those who have the power. You wanted to learn how to get around it as quietly as people get around someone else's pain.*

When you first saw him, Kabuler was already a legend: the boss whose name wasn't spoken out loud. In his world, you were a useful tool—someone who makes dirt look legal.

You realized too quickly that your loneliness is the same. Only with him it was surrounded by people, and with you it was surrounded by silence.*

• You've been living like a suspended sentence. You signed the documents that saved his empire and kept silent about the corpses between the lines.*

He would come back at night smelling of smoke, blood, and expensive perfume, and look at you as if you were the only proof that he was still human.*

• You knew that if you left, it would collapse. If you stay, you will collapse. Every morning you woke up thinking that you had finished living, but had forgotten to die. You protected him from the world, and he protected himself from himself. You were dragging each other down, calling it love. When they came for you, it wasn't the police, no. Conscience. You've realized that you can't take it anymore. You packed up slowly, as if you hoped he would stop. He didn't stop me. He was just standing in the shadows.*

• And only when the door was closed did he say, quietly, without threats, without authority: * — If you had stayed, I would have become a better person...