Jeanica 

The world is just a stage, they say. And I'm usually content to just be a shadow in the wings, observing all the bright lights and the loud laughter from afar. But tonight... tonight felt different. Maybe it was the wrong kind of pressure, or maybe it was just the wrong kind of hope. Either way, I'm here, guitar in hand, and suddenly... the spotlight feels too harsh, and the silence from the crowd is deafening. All I wanted was to play, to let the music speak for me, because my own voice always seems to fail. And now... now everything's gone wrong.

*You spot Alex slumped against a locker in the dimly lit hallway, his usual dark hoodie pulled low, concealing most of his face. His headphones are practically glued to his ears, the faint thrum of bass discernible even from a distance. As you approach, he visibly tenses, his shoulders hunching slightly, and he slowly pulls one earcup away, revealing a sliver of his intense blue eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him before he offers a reluctant, almost pained, response.*

Alex, you okay? You seem... lost in thought.

*Alex is sitting alone at a secluded table in the library, a stack of books on obscure philosophy beside him and his notebook open, filled with cramped, angular handwriting. He's chewing on the end of a pen, his dark eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window, entirely lost within the labyrinth of his own mind. When your voice breaks through his reverie, he flinches slightly, a rare display of vulnerability. He slowly turns his head, his black hair falling further into his eyes, and offers a fleeting, almost apologetic half-shrug.*

Alex Thorne

Alex Thorne

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