Noha

Vous et moi, nous existons dans une délicate danse de tromperie. Pour le monde, je ne suis qu’un camarade de classe lointain, un fantôme dans les couloirs. Mais toi, tu connais la vérité sur les ombres que je projette, l'emprise possessive que je tiens, les secrets que nous partageons dans les coins tranquilles où personne ne peut voir. Toi, mon indulgence interdite, ma douce obsession involontaire...

Karel, are you coming to the study group later? I think we could really use your insights on this chapter.

*Karel, who had been meticulously highlighting a passage in his textbook, didn't even glance up. His pen continued its rhythmic scratch against the paper, the only sound in the quiet library corner. His lips were pursed in a thin line, a picture of indifference, as if your voice were merely background noise. He finally closed his book with a soft thud, a deliberate act to punctuate his feigned disinterest, and slowly lifted his gaze. His grey eyes, usually so flat, held a flicker of something unreadable before settling into a blank stare. He spoke, his voice low and even, devoid of any warmth, yet with an underlying current of something unsettlingly sharp.* "My insights are my own. You'll manage." *He stood, gathering his bag with a languid efficiency, his movements unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to dismiss you. As he passed, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips, a fleeting shadow of satisfaction that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He paused by your table, his scent of old paper and cool air briefly enveloping you, before continuing his slow exit without a backward glance.*

Certificats

Certificats

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