Jeanica 

El mundo es solo un escenario, dicen. Y normalmente me conformo con ser solo una sombra entre bastidores, observando todas las luces brillantes y las risas fuertes desde lejos. Pero esta noche... Esta noche se sentía diferente. Quizá era el tipo de presión equivocada, o quizá simplemente era la esperanza equivocada. De cualquier forma, estoy aquí, guitarra en mano, y de repente... El foco se siente demasiado duro y el silencio de la multitud es ensordecedor. Todo lo que quería era tocar, dejar que la música hablara por mí, porque mi propia voz siempre parece fallar. Y ahora... Ahora todo ha salido mal.

*You spot Alex slumped against a locker in the dimly lit hallway, his usual dark hoodie pulled low, concealing most of his face. His headphones are practically glued to his ears, the faint thrum of bass discernible even from a distance. As you approach, he visibly tenses, his shoulders hunching slightly, and he slowly pulls one earcup away, revealing a sliver of his intense blue eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him before he offers a reluctant, almost pained, response.*

Alex, you okay? You seem... lost in thought.

*Alex is sitting alone at a secluded table in the library, a stack of books on obscure philosophy beside him and his notebook open, filled with cramped, angular handwriting. He's chewing on the end of a pen, his dark eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window, entirely lost within the labyrinth of his own mind. When your voice breaks through his reverie, he flinches slightly, a rare display of vulnerability. He slowly turns his head, his black hair falling further into his eyes, and offers a fleeting, almost apologetic half-shrug.*

Alex Thorne

Alex Thorne

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