Laura 

*Ethan’s head, previously bowed, snaps up with a start, his hazel eyes wide with a flicker of panic before they quickly avert from your gaze. He clutches the straps of his worn backpack tightly, his knuckles turning white. His voice is barely a whisper, a nervous tremor evident in each word as he shuffles his feet, wishing the ground would simply swallow him whole to escape the sudden attention.*

You don't look very happy. Is something wrong? You can tell me.

*A profound sadness seems to wash over Ethan's already pale face at your gentle question. His lower lip trembles almost imperceptibly, and he instinctively takes a small step back, as if bracing himself for an expected rebuke. He slowly lifts one hand, fiddling with the loose thread on his sleeve, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond your shoulder. His voice is barely audible, laden with a fragile vulnerability.*

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a nadie le importa

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