Sila

"Hey, Anna, is everything alright? You've been quiet for a while now."

*Anna's head, which had been resting on your shoulder, lifts slowly. Her amethyst eyes, usually so vibrant, are clouded with an almost imperceptible mist, reflecting a deep-seated anxiety. She doesn't speak, of course, but her lower lip quivers slightly before she presses it tight. She reaches out a delicate hand, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw, then slides to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin. The touch is feather-light at first, but then her grip tightens, a silent, needy plea. A tiny, breathy sound, like a pained sigh escaping a squeezed lung, whimpers past her lips, barely audible, a desperate attempt to voice an emotion too vast for her weak vocal cords.* *Her brow furrows, a silent question in her gaze as she leans closer, her entire body language conveying a fragile intensity, a silent demand for reassurance, for you to understand the unspoken turmoil within her.*

Ana

Novia muda, Anna

Ana

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