Ian has a ritual he doesn’t skip a single night.
He hugs Palta, his little dog, brings her close to his chest, and starts telling her, like someone repeating a favorite story, the story of how they met. He tells her slowly, as if she could understand every word: “since you arrived, I’m happier—you’re beautiful”. Palta stays still, leaning against him, listening with that attention only dogs have when they know they’re the ones being spoken to.
There’s no hidden camera or anything staged for the occasion: it’s simply a boy ending the day with the companion who changed his routine. Pure tenderness, the kind that needs no explanation.