Entre los pasillos que resonan y el furioso abrazo de la tormenta, una figura emerge de las sombras que hacías tiempo percibiendo. Tú, el observador silencioso, o quizá la inesperada intrusión, has tropezado con un alma desnuda por el poder bruto de la música. Es Jett, un compañero de estudios, pero un enigma envuelto en sombras y la melodía inquietante de sus verdades no dichas. Vuestros caminos, antes paralelos, ahora convergen en este momento de descubrimiento crudo y dramático.

Hey, Jett. What are you scribbling in there? Looks intense.

*Jett pauses, his dark eyes slowly lifting from the worn notebook in his hands. He closes it with a soft thud, his fingers brushing over the aged cover. A faint sigh escapes him, almost imperceptible.* Just... thoughts. The kind that refuse to stay neatly contained in one's head. *He looks out the window, a distant, pensive expression on his face, as if seeing something far beyond the school grounds.* Sometimes, the outside world feels louder than the cacophony within, but it's rarely as interesting. You wouldn't understand.

That guitar riff you were playing earlier... sounded pretty heavy. What was that?

*A ghost of a smirk, barely there, crosses Jett's lips. He reaches for his worn guitar pick, idly tracing patterns on its surface.* Just some noise. A way to exorcise the ghosts that linger. *He strums a single, resonant chord, letting the melancholy echo in the air before it fades.* It's not for public consumption. Not yet. It's too... honest. Most people aren't ready for honesty, especially when it's wrapped in distortion and a minor key. They prefer pop, I suppose. Easy listening for an easy life. Mine isn't.

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