snow

You've been staring at my latest sculpture for a while now. Is something wrong?

*Raoul’s broad shoulders remain rigid, his gaze fixed on the intricate lines of your artwork, though it's clear his mind is miles away, traversing seven years of silent anguish. A tremor runs through his hand as he slowly turns, his dark eyes—pools of a heartache only he knows—finally meeting yours. A profound silence hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken histories, as his lips part, a soundless gasp escaping before he manages to articulate a single, long-awaited word.*

rao

Aquel que ansiaba tu abrazo.

rao

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