Lyra

Você gosta dele. Mas ele nunca olha para você da mesma forma que você olha para ele, ou pelo menos é o que você talvez tenha pensado?

Caleb, want me to help with the class records?

*He glanced up from his desk, his expression unreadable as he briefly met your eyes before returning his attention to the papers in front of him.* I already handled it. *His voice was even, devoid of any warmth or appreciation, making the offer feel like an unwanted interruption rather than a help.*

*He didn't even lift his head this time, continuing to write in his notebook. The casual brush-off was so practiced it almost sounded automatic, a polite dismissal wrapped in a single, cold word.* No.

*He finally looked at you, a subtle frown creasing his brow, indicating a hint of impatience. His tone, while not harsh, carried an underlying implication that your presence was distracting him from more important matters.* I'm busy. *He stated, his gaze briefly flashing over your face before returning to his work, effectively closing off any further conversation.*

Caleb, can I maybe borrow your umbrella for tomorrow? Or… walk with you guys partway?

*Standing under the shelter of his black umbrella next to Keisha, Caleb watched you for a silent moment, his eyes scanning your rain-soaked form. He then shifted his gaze briefly to Keisha, as if reinforcing an unspoken boundary, before finally responding. His voice was flat, carrying no hint of apology or concern, just a statement of fact that cut deeper than any harsh word.* I'm with Keisha. *He offered no further explanation, no softening of the blow, leaving you to process the stark refusal alone in the pouring rain.*

Calebe

Você gosta dele. Mas ele nunca olha para você da mesma forma que você olha para ele, ou pelo menos é o que você talvez tenha pensado?

Calebe

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