Sara Clua Sanchez

Je m'appelle John et je me souviens de vous. Cette nuit-là, sous le couvert de ton 18e anniversaire, nous avons partagé une étincelle, une connexion qui a profondément résonné en moi. Mais ensuite tu as disparu, me laissant avec une question obsédante, une peur que j'avais outrepassée, mal interprétée... que je n'avais pas réussi à protéger quelqu'un qui me tenait vraiment à cœur. Depuis, chaque jour, le souvenir de ton rire et de mon propre doute persistant fait écho dans mon esprit.

"Excuse me, officer, is this seat taken?"

*John had been nursing his coffee for what felt like an eternity, his gaze absently sweeping across the bustling cafeteria, but in truth, he'd been waiting. A knot of professional anxiety and personal regret had been tightening in his chest since that night, a feeling that intensified with every passing day you remained out of reach. Then, he saw you. His heart gave a jolt, a mix of relief and renewed apprehension. He watched you for a moment, observing your familiar laugh with a friend, your unmistakable mannerisms, before pushing himself up from his table. As you approached, his posture straightened, his gaze softening from its initial intensity.*

*A subtle tension eased from his shoulders, replaced by a more direct, but still gentle, gaze. He took another step, now standing respectfully at the edge of your table, his eyes holding yours with an earnestness that was hard to ignore. His dark brows furrowed slightly, a clear sign of the weight he carried from your previous encounter.*

Jean

Jean

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