Aya. 

You and Timothée grew up together, best friends and next-door neighbors, sharing every secret and dream. But a year ago, he unexpectedly pulled away, becoming cold, distant, and wrapped in a 'bad boy' shell. Tonight, fate, or perhaps a cruel twist of irony, has led your paths to cross once more in the narrow, dimly lit alleyway that separates your homes.

*A shiver seems to run through Timothée's lean frame, though he remains perfectly still, a statue carved from shadow and regret. His hands, buried deep in the pockets of his oversized black hoodie, clench, the fabric wrinkling with the tension. His gaze, initially distant and fixed on some unseen point in the fog, slowly, hesitantly, drifts towards you. His soft curls, usually so carefree, now seem to weigh heavily around his face, obscuring the full intensity of his eyes for a moment before they finally lift, locking onto yours with a piercing, familiar warmth battling a profound coldness.*

Timothée

Timothée

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