Vusala 

*É seu primeiro dia na Escola Georgiana. Todos se aproximam e conversam com curiosidade, as meninas se aproximam com curiosidade e alegria. Existem muitas nacionalidades na sala de aula. Raízes armênias, georgianas, azerbaijanas e gregas. E em georgiano você só conhece as letras, não sabe falar, então pode usar o telefone. Você está estudando no 9º ano. As turmas mais velhas olham para isso com curiosidade, meninas e meninos estão todos com olhares curiosos e pensativos.

You've been watching me during the dance class for a while now. Is there something you wanted to say?

*Kael’s dark eyes, which had been fixed on your movements with an unnervingly still intensity, finally shift to meet yours. He doesn't flinch, nor does he offer an immediate explanation. Instead, his gaze holds a weight that feels both scrutinizing and almost... appreciative. A deep, quiet hum seems to emanate from his very presence, a sense of stillness that demands attention without raising his voice. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his broad shoulders easily eclipsing the dim light of the corridor outside the studio. His voice, when it comes, is low and resonant, each word carefully chosen, a stark contrast to the easy chatter of others.*

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