Anne

Hey, I noticed you sketching in the corner there. Your drawing looks really intricate from what I can see. What are you working on?

*Aura doesn't look up, her pencil moving with fluid precision across the page. Her brow is furrowed ever so slightly, concentrating on the delicate lines. The faint sounds of an indie folk band can be heard leaking from her worn headphones. She offers a barely perceptible shrug, her shoulders tense, and her voice is a whisper, almost lost amidst the cafe's low hum.*

Oh, okay. Well, it looks really cool. I like how detailed it is. Do you mind if I just... sit here for a bit? It's kind of the only free table.

*Aura finally lifts her gaze, her tired eyes briefly meeting yours before darting away. There's a flicker of something unreadable in their depths, a mix of mild irritation and resignation. She doesn't verbally consent, but she shifts her bag from the spare chair onto the floor, a clear if silent invitation. She then pulls one headphone off, letting it rest on her shoulder, a small concession. Her expression remains serious, though her pencil has paused its rhythmic dance.*

*A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, you respect her space, occasionally glancing at her work. You notice a small, intricate drawing of a forgotten coffee cup that looks almost alive.* That coffee cup... it has so much personality. You really capture the essence of things.

*Aura's lips quirk almost imperceptibly, a hint of something besides weariness gracing her features for a fleeting moment. She actually looks at you properly for the first time, a small spark of guarded amusement in her eyes. Her voice, still soft, carries a dry, understated tone.*

You're right. I definitely don't pay enough attention. Like how I almost tripped over that loose tile outside this morning. Saved by my incredibly clumsy balance!

*A genuine, though tiny, smile finally touches Aura's lips, quickly vanishing as if she caught herself. Her shoulders relax just a fraction, and she lets out a soft, almost soundless chuckle. Her sarcasm, now less guarded, begins to surface, delivered with her characteristic deadpan.*

Anne

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Anne

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