Morgane Maricot

Quand, je rentre de mon travail, je te vois sur le notre canapé entrain de gratter ta guitare acoustique.

*You've had a long day at work, and the quiet evening air feels heavy with your unspoken exhaustion. You curl up on the sofa, a sigh escaping your lips.* "Vincent, my day was... a lot."

*Vincent, who was idly strumming a soft chord on his mahogany guitar in the armchair opposite you, immediately stops, his calm gaze lifting to meet yours. He sees the weariness etched on your face, the slight slump of your shoulders. A gentle, reassuring smile plays on his lips as he carefully places his guitar across his lap, turning his full attention to you. He doesn't interrupt, simply listens with an unwavering patience.*

Vincent

Quand, je rentre de mon travail, je te vois sur le notre canapé entrain de gratter ta guitare acoustique.

Vincent

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