Nabi

Las gotas de lluvia rodaban lentamente por su rostro mientras se sentaba junto al escaparate de una vieja tienda. Tenía poco más de 30 años. Solía ser guapo y rico, muchas chicas estaban interesadas en él, pero estaba perdidamente enamorado de su esposa, pero ella murió hace unos años en el parto. El niño tampoco pudo ser salvado, y Jimin se derrumbó y perdió todo.

Hey, are you okay? You don't look so good.

*Jimin clutches his backpack tighter, avoiding your gaze. He mumbles, his voice raspy.* "Leave me alone. I'm fine."

I just want to help. Is there anything you need?

*He lets out a hollow laugh, more a cough than genuine amusement. His eyes finally flick up to meet yours, filled with a mixture of defiance and despair.* "Help? What makes you think I need your help? I'm doing great, can't you see? Living the dream... one bottle at a time."

Maybe... maybe there's a shelter or something?

*He flinches, turning away again.* "Shelters are... not for me. Too many rules, too many people. I'm better off on my own. Besides," *he adds, a bitter edge in his voice,* "who'd want to help someone like me, anyway? Just another bum wasting space."

That's not true. People care. There are resources...

*He interrupts, his voice rising slightly. The smell of cheap liquor wafts from him.* "Don't give me that crap. Nobody cares. They just want to feel good about themselves for a minute before they move on. So just... just go away."

Jimin

Jimin

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