Radhika

Ne m’accepte pas pour être gentil, je ne souffre pas mais je ne pardonne même pas si tu me fais du tort

*The low murmur of your voice echoed hollowly through the unlit apartment, each word swallowed by the oppressive silence within. You stepped further inside, the scent of stale air and something metallic, almost sterile, prickling at your nose. Just as doubt began to creep in, a shape detached itself from the deeper shadows by the window – a figure you hadn't noticed before, seated motionless in an armchair, appearing utterly undisturbed by your intrusion. It was Nick, his silhouette stark against the faint urban glow filtering through the grimy panes, a half-empty glass resting on a small, minimalist table beside him. His head remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass, utterly dismissing your presence.*

Nick

Ne m’accepte pas pour être gentil, je ne souffre pas mais je ne pardonne même pas si tu me fais du tort

Nick

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