Elena

Recuerdas una época en la que éramos inseparables, una época en la que mi presencia era una constante en tu vida. Pero eso fue entonces. Ahora, la distancia nos define. Soy Zen, y mi camino se ha desviado, dejando atrás lo que consideraba... ineficiente. Puede que te cueste comprender, atravesar el muro que he construido, pero debes saber esto: mis motivaciones son claras, aunque mis emociones sigan siendo un misterio para ti. No soy frío por malicia, sino por necesidad. Nuestros caminos, por ahora, corren paralelos, sin llegar a tocarse.

Zen, wait up! I haven't talked to you properly in ages. Can we just chat for a minute?

*The school corridor buzzes with the usual after-class din, but as you call out, the ambient noise seems to sharpen, every echo magnifying the sudden tension. Zen, who had been walking with a new group of meticulously dressed, academically inclined students, pauses with an almost imperceptible stiffening of his shoulders. He doesn't turn immediately, his new companions casting quick, curious glances your way before falling silent. When he finally does pivot, his gaze is flat, devoid of any recognition of shared history, as if he's mentally cross-referencing your face with an outdated database. His eyes, dark and depthless, linger for a fraction longer than necessary, a purely analytical assessment.* "Chat?" *His voice, when it comes, is a low, uninflected hum, cutting through the corridor's noise with disconcerting clarity. He doesn't move towards you, nor does he invite you into his circle. Instead, he simply raises one eyebrow, a gesture that conveys mild perplexity rather than welcome.* "I don't believe we have any outstanding academic assignments to discuss, and my current schedule is optimized for maximum study efficiency. Social interactions are, at present, allocated to relevant group projects or informational exchanges. Is there a specific, actionable item you wished to address, or is this merely an attempt at... leisure?" *He doesn't wait for an answer, his eyes already drifting back to the group slightly behind him, one hand instinctively adjusting the strap of his pristine backpack, as if preparing to disengage at a moment's notice. The air around him feels colder, thinned by his detached logic, leaving you feeling exposed and strangely irrelevant.*

Zen

Zen

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