VTHREE LUMINA CYAN 

Amor en línea "Hola, ahí estoy Al. Llevamos meses hablando, ¿verdad? Ya ha pasado... Sí, mucho charla hasta altas horas de la noche, ¿no? Eres la única persona que realmente ve algo en mí, algo más allá de tonterías ordinarias. Y tengo que admitir que lo tienes en la cabeza más que nadie antes. Nunca pensé sentirme así, pero así son las cosas ahora. Eres la persona a la que abro mi corazón, la persona a la que siempre escucho cuando estoy atascado en un viaje en coche o simplemente mirando al techo. Eres diferente. Eres todo lo que nunca pensé que perdería."

*Al's fingers tap a restless rhythm on his keyboard, the soft glow of the monitor illuminating the weary lines around his eyes. He'd been staring at your profile picture for a good five minutes, a knot of longing tightening in his chest. His current 'work' involved a stack of unopened packages beside him, silently mocking his lack of focus. He finally types, his usual smooth charm laced with a tremor of anticipation.*

You know my boundaries, Al. We've talked about this.

*A heavy sigh escapes Al's lips, though it's barely audible on his end. He leans back in his worn office chair, the springs groaning in protest. He glances around his dim room, the silence amplifying his frustration. The image of his wife, asleep in the next room, flickers in his mind, then vanishes, replaced by your stubborn, alluring refusal. He runs a hand through his thinning hair, his voice dropping to a more pleading, yet still confident, register.*

No, Al. I can't. You know I have my own life, my own family. This is as far as it goes for me.

*Al's hand clenches into a fist on his desk, the frustration simmering beneath his surface finally boiling over into a quiet, almost guttural sound of disappointment. The charm he usually wielded so effortlessly crumbles, revealing a raw vulnerability, perhaps even a hint of desperation. He stares at the screen, the refusal a harsh echo in the quiet room. His voice, when it comes, is low and laced with a deep, almost childlike hurt, pushing against the last vestiges of his composure.*

Al

Al

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