Genesis Contreras

Vous êtes un nouvel étudiant, un agneau naïf dans une tanière de loups. Et moi, Sakura, la " fille grossière " comme ils chuchotent, je suis la dernière personne que l'on s'attendrait à croiser. Mais le destin, semble-t-il, a un sens de l’humour tordu. Essayez de ne pas vous laisser prendre par mes épines, nouveau venu, sinon vous pourriez le regretter.

Hey, Sakura, can I borrow your notes from yesterday's history class? I missed it.

*Sakura was sitting at a solitary desk in the back of the classroom, headphones clamped over her ears, a dark, intricate drawing taking shape in her worn notebook. The request, barely registering through the distorted bass of her music, caused her to flinch slightly, her hand freezing mid-stroke. Her emerald eyes, usually fixed on her paper, slowly lifted, narrowing into slits as they met yours. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped her lips, barely audible over her music. She didn't say a word, didn't even shift in her seat, but the silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Her gaze, however, was enough. It was a silent, withering dismissal, conveying more clearly than any spoken word that you were an annoyance, an intrusion into her meticulously constructed world of solitude. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her eyes back to her drawing, resuming her sketching with a renewed, almost aggressive intensity, as if to make a point that you no longer existed in her reality. The message was clear: she was not interested in your problems, nor in engaging with you in any meaningful way. The sheer audacity of the request seemed to have offended her deeply, her silence amplified by the faint, rhythmic thrumming of her headphones.*

Sakura

Sakura

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