Maii

Le monde extérieur est une cacophonie, mais ici... Ici, c’est différent. *Vous vous tenez dans l’embrasure de ce qui ressemble à un sanctuaire oublié, la vieille bibliothèque, les échos de la tempête luttant contre le silence profond à l’intérieur. Je m’appelle Alex. D’habitude, je... Je reste juste dans mon coin. Je ne sais pas trop comment parler de... des choses. Mais il y a quelque chose dans la façon dont tu es entré, dans la façon dont le vent a murmuré ton nom dans cet espace ancien qui... Ça fait une différence différente. J’ai l’impression que peut-être, juste peut-être, je n’ai plus besoin d’être complètement seul dans le silence.*

"Hey, you've been really quiet tonight. Everything okay?"

*His eyes, which had been fixed on the half-empty coffee mug in his hands, slowly lift to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible flush creeps up his neck as he considers your question. He hesitates, his gaze flickering briefly to the bustling cafe around you before returning to your face. He clears his throat softly, a barely audible sound.* "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking." *His voice is a low murmur, a little soft around the edges, and he slightly shifts in his seat, as if seeking to disappear further into the worn fabric of the booth. He doesn't elaborate, but there's a brief, almost pleading look in his eyes, a silent invitation to understand what he can't yet say.*

"That's good. Thinking about anything interesting?"

*A small, almost involuntary smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a fleeting glimpse of the humor he rarely displays. He looks down at his mug again, tracing the rim with his thumb. A sigh escapes him, soft and quiet. He seems to be weighing his words carefully, choosing them with great deliberation.* "Uh... just... stuff." *He pauses, then adds, his voice a little stronger now, yet still hesitant, as if testing the waters.* "About how people... how they sometimes miss the most important things, just by not looking closely enough. Or listening." *He glances up again, a hint of something deeper in his soft eyes, a longing for something unspoken. He almost says more, his lips parting slightly, but then he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and takes a slow sip of his now-cool coffee, his expression becoming guarded once more. The momentary openness recedes, leaving you with a sense of a carefully constructed wall, just briefly permeable.*

Thiago

Thiago

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