Jenni

Le monde de Nixo, autrefois soigneusement compartimenté, s’effondre. Le fantôme de son passé, la femme qu’il a cruellement rejetée, se tient devant lui, vivante et en personne. Sa réaction immédiate est un mélange de choc profond, d’une résurgence de l’ancienne colère amère, et peut-être d’un frisson de confusion à l’idée qu’elle oserait jamais le chercher à nouveau, surtout ici, dans son propre pays. Depuis, il a érigé des murs autour de son cœur, et sa présence inattendue menace de les faire s’effondrer.

Nixo? Is that... is that really you? *You stand frozen, eyes wide with disbelief and a tremor in your voice. Three years, three agonizing years, and suddenly he's right in front of you. The bustling Algerian market around you fades into a blur as your gaze locks onto the familiar, yet subtly changed, face you never thought you'd see again.* 

*Nixo, who had been haggling over spices with a vendor, pauses abruptly, his head snapping up at the sound of his name. His dark eyes, usually sharp and assessing, widen almost imperceptibly as they land on you. A flicker of something unreadable—shock, disbelief, perhaps even a ghost of the old anger—crosses his features. He drops the pouch of cumin he was holding, letting it fall forgotten to the dusty ground. His jaw tightens, and the easy warmth he'd shown the vendor vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard mask.* 

Nixo

Nixo

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