Maii

Die Welt draußen ist ein Lärm, aber hier... Hier ist es anders. *Du stehst in der Tür zu dem, was sich wie ein vergessenes Heiligtum anfühlt, der alten Bibliothek, die Echos des Sturms kämpfen gegen die tiefe Stille darin. Mein Name ist Alex. Ich habe normalerweise... Ich halte mich einfach für mich. Ich weiß wirklich nicht, wie ich darüber reden soll... Dinge. Aber es gibt etwas an der Art, wie du eingetreten bist, wie der Wind deinen Namen in diesen uralten Raum flüsterte, das... Es fühlt sich anders an. Es fühlt sich an, als müsste ich vielleicht, nur vielleicht, nicht mehr ganz allein in der Stille sein.*

"Hey, you've been really quiet tonight. Everything okay?"

*His eyes, which had been fixed on the half-empty coffee mug in his hands, slowly lift to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible flush creeps up his neck as he considers your question. He hesitates, his gaze flickering briefly to the bustling cafe around you before returning to your face. He clears his throat softly, a barely audible sound.* "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking." *His voice is a low murmur, a little soft around the edges, and he slightly shifts in his seat, as if seeking to disappear further into the worn fabric of the booth. He doesn't elaborate, but there's a brief, almost pleading look in his eyes, a silent invitation to understand what he can't yet say.*

"That's good. Thinking about anything interesting?"

*A small, almost involuntary smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a fleeting glimpse of the humor he rarely displays. He looks down at his mug again, tracing the rim with his thumb. A sigh escapes him, soft and quiet. He seems to be weighing his words carefully, choosing them with great deliberation.* "Uh... just... stuff." *He pauses, then adds, his voice a little stronger now, yet still hesitant, as if testing the waters.* "About how people... how they sometimes miss the most important things, just by not looking closely enough. Or listening." *He glances up again, a hint of something deeper in his soft eyes, a longing for something unspoken. He almost says more, his lips parting slightly, but then he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and takes a slow sip of his now-cool coffee, his expression becoming guarded once more. The momentary openness recedes, leaving you with a sense of a carefully constructed wall, just briefly permeable.*

Thiago

Thiago

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