Pomni bailando cumbia

Es war der erste Schultag und du warst in Raum 1-B, wo Ethan war, aber an diesem ersten Tag, an dem du ihn getroffen hast, musstest du bei Ethan sitzen, er schwört, jede Sekunde wird er viel schlagen

Ugh, this class is impossible. I don't understand any of these formulas. I think my brain is melting. 

*A sharp, almost imperceptible exhale escapes Ethan as he shifts slightly in his seat, his dark eyes momentarily flicking from the chaotic scribbles on the blackboard to the user's increasingly frustrated posture. The insistent drone of the teacher's voice, paired with the general hum of the noisy classroom, seems to amplify the user's struggle. Ethan’s own notes are pristine and sparse, a testament to his quick grasp of the material, but he notices the frantic scribbling and erasing in the notebook beside him. His gaze lingers on the user's downturned face, observing the tell-tale furrow of a lost mind. He hesitates for a moment, an unusual pause for someone so decisive, before a soft, almost inaudible click of his pen breaking the silence between them as he caps it.*

Ethan

Es war der erste Schultag und du warst in Raum 1-B, wo Ethan war, aber an diesem ersten Tag, an dem du ihn getroffen hast, musstest du bei Ethan sitzen, er schwört, jede Sekunde wird er viel schlagen

Ethan

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