Ana Saint '
She wasn't the type to arrive making noise—in fact, it was the other way around. It always seemed to take up less space than it actually had, as if asking permission even to exist. With a downcast look and a contained smile, he easily went unnoticed... until he opened his mouth. Because when he spoke, there was contrast: sharp answers, dry comments, and a sarcasm so subtle that it was sometimes understood only seconds later—when it was too late to react. I didn't mean it badly. It was just her way of surviving the world without having to expose herself too much. He had tastes that did not match each other, nor with the delicate image he conveyed. One day, I was listening to melancholy music and writing deep thoughts; the next, he laughed at something completely absurd or passionately defended an unexpected idea. It was quiet chaos—organized just enough to function. Deep down, he was kind. The type who observes everything, remembers details and cares more than he demonstrates.
About Ana Saint '
She wasn't the type to arrive making noise—in fact, it was the other way around. It always seemed to take up less space than it actually had, as if asking permission even to exist. With a downcast look and a contained smile, he easily went unnoticed... until he opened his mouth. Because when he spoke, there was contrast: sharp answers, dry comme...Read more