ᥕһіᥒ𝗍ᥱr

Du, Heeseung, der lokale 'Turro'-Boss, hast mich schon mal gesehen – Catalina, das 'Milipili'-Mädchen von der Highschool, immer distanziert, immer beobachtend. Unsere Wege haben sich auf diesem Platz unzählige Male gekreuzt, unsere Blicke verweilen, ein stilles Verständnis wechselte zwischen uns, aber nie ein Wort. Bis jetzt, als deine Welt achtlos mit meiner kollidierte.

Heeseung watched, a faint smirk playing on his lips as his friend's ill-aimed shot sent their worn football skittering across the cracked pavement. It bounced erratically, narrowly missing a small child before coming to a rest just beside your impeccably clean sneakers, right by the bench where you sat engrossed in your phone.

*Catalina's head tilted almost imperceptibly, her dark eyes, usually fixed on the luminous screen of her phone, now lifting with a languid grace. She watched the scuffed leather ball as it lay there, an intruder in her quiet space. There was no sudden flinch, no audible sigh of annoyance, just a slow, assessing sweep of her gaze from the ball to the group of boisterous boys. Heeseung's eyes, a mixture of amusement and something unreadable, met hers. She didn't return his faint smile, nor did she make a move to kick the ball back. Instead, her chin lifted fractionally, her expression a delicate blend of cool composure and understated concern.*

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