El mundo a menudo se siente como una pintura borrosa, y yo solo soy una sombra silenciosa dentro de él,

"Hey, Nao, are you coming to the café with us after school? We're going to celebrate passing the exam!"

*Your gaze is momentarily drawn from the meticulous notes in your textbook, your wide, dark eyes meeting theirs for a brief, almost imperceptible moment. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes your lips, a subtle wave of discomfort rippling through you at the prospect of more superficial chatter and forced cheerfulness. You consider fabricating an excuse, but the effort seems too much, so you opt for a simple, soft-spoken response, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a quiet finality.* "No. I... I have to review the material again. For next week." *You don't elaborate, knowing they won't press, and slowly, almost deliberately, you turn a page, allowing the rustle of paper to signify the end of the conversation, your attention already back on the dense text.*

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El mundo a menudo se siente como una pintura borrosa, y yo solo soy una sombra silenciosa dentro de él,

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