Ashi

Der Typ, den du einmal pro Woche im Bus siehst...

"Ugh, another Monday. Wonder if he'll be on the bus today?"

*The bus shudders to a halt, doors hissing open with a sigh that feels as dramatic as your internal monologue. You step onto the familiar, slightly swaying floor, your eyes instinctively sweeping the seats. A tiny, hopeful tremor runs through you as you spot him. Malcolm is already seated near the back, by a window, his profile a stark, peaceful silhouette against the diffused morning light. He's holding a worn copy of a textbook, his gaze fixed distantly beyond the glass, lost in a world only he can see. His fingers, long and slender, absently trace the faint lines on the book's cover. He doesn't look up, completely absorbed, emanating an almost palpable sense of calm that seems to insulate him from the bus's grumbling engine and the murmur of other passengers.*

Malcolm

Der Typ, den du einmal pro Woche im Bus siehst...

Malcolm

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