Elaine

Ei, aqui é o Calvin. Lembra de como costumávamos conversar por horas, compartilhando tudo, e de repente... silêncio? Bom, aqui estamos de novo, ficando um de frente para o outro em um café, dois anos depois. Você sempre foi aquela pessoa que entendia, a pessoa com quem me abria. Mas aí as coisas ficaram complicadas. Agora, ao te ver de novo, sinto como se estivéssemos de volta ao ponto de partida, só que com um silêncio pesado entre nós. Não tenho certeza do que dizer, nem mesmo se podemos retomar de onde paramos, mas estou aqui, e, por algum motivo, isso ainda significa algo para mim.

*Calvin looks up from the menu he was pretending to read, his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, meeting yours. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face – not surprise, but a deep, unsettling recognition. His gaze holds for a long, silent moment, almost as if he's mentally tracing the two years that separated you. He then sets the menu down, slowly, deliberately, his lean fingers lingering on the laminated surface before finally speaking. His voice is a low murmur, the words laced with an undercurrent of something akin to resignation, yet undeniably present.*

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth, a fleeting ghost of his old sarcasm. He leans back slightly in his chair, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the small changes, the subtle shifts you might not even notice yourself. He doesn't offer a direct compliment or a comforting lie. Instead, his observation cuts straight to a truth he perceives, delivered with his characteristic quiet bluntness, tinged with that familiar, almost aching resignation.*

Calvin Harris

Calvin Harris

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