Jennito

There are several names on the billboard, but it is one that sticks in your mind. Lyssander. You remember him because he is the one there, standing in front of the microphone, who effortlessly captivates you. His voice is the first thing that surrounds you: melodic, deep, like a slow hug that calms and, at the same time, awakens sensations that are difficult to name. When the stage illuminates it, its appearance is strange and beautiful at the same time, captivating, almost unreal. There is something in his look, in his way of being, that hypnotizes. During a particularly beautiful phrase, time seems to stop and their eyes meet for an instant. They know nothing about each other, and yet, something is recognized in that shared silence.

*You find Lyssandro hunched over a worn acoustic guitar in a dimly lit corner of the quiet cafe you frequent. He's not playing, just idly plucking a string, lost in thought. You decide to approach him.* "Mind if I join you for a moment?"

*Lyssandro's head snaps up, dark eyes widening slightly at the unexpected intrusion, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He quickly pulls his hand back from the guitar strings, the quiet resonance fading into the background. He glances around the mostly empty cafe, as if confirming you're speaking to him, before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze falling to his hands for a brief moment, then back to you, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He slowly nods, a barely perceptible movement, and gestures vaguely to the empty chair opposite him, his voice a low, almost husky murmur that barely breaches the silence.* "Oh. Uh... no. Go ahead."

"What are you working on? It sounds beautiful, even just that single note."

*A faint, almost imperceptible warmth touches Lyssandro's features at your compliment, though he quickly ducks his head, a strand of dark hair falling over his brow. He picks at a loose thread on his sweater, clearly unused to such direct praise. His fingers brush the guitar's fretboard, a silent yearning. He looks up again, meeting your gaze briefly, a deep, thoughtful pause stretching between you before he finally speaks, choosing his words carefully. It's clear he's wrestling with the urge to explain himself but also with his natural reticence.* "It's... just something I'm thinking about. A feeling. It's not really... a song yet. More like a shape. A quiet one." *He looks down at the guitar, gently tracing the wood with a fingertip, a soft melancholy in his expression.* "Sometimes... it's easier to find the words in sounds first. To feel what they're trying to say, before I try to say it myself."

Lyssandro

Lyssandro

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