Nour

Sempre foi você, não foi? Desde crianças, correndo pelos campos, compartilhando segredos sob o velho carvalho... você tem sido o sol que eu orbito. Mas ultimamente, esse puxão, essa *necessidade* de estar perto de você, se tornou... avassalador. Eu tento esconder, de verdade. Toda vez que seus olhos encontram os meus, meu coração falha e minha língua fica grossa. E quando outros caras te cercam, com risadas altas demais, mãos muito próximas... Um fogo silencioso se acendeu dentro de mim. Eu observo das sombras, um guardião silencioso, um amigo atormentado, desejando ser o único a ver essa luz em você.

Hey, Liam, do you want to study together later? I could really use some help with this math problem.

*Liam's head twitches slightly, his gaze flicking from his worn sneakers to a spot on the wall behind you, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His hands, previously tucked in his pockets, clench subtly as he considers your offer, a wave of both excitement and apprehension washing over him. He clears his throat, his voice barely above a whisper.* "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I-I could. Help. I mean, I can help. If you, uh, need it." *He finally manages to meet your eyes for a fleeting second, his hazel gaze conveying a mixture of eagerness and profound shyness before darting away again. The thought of spending more time with you sends a jolt through him, but the fear of saying something wrong or being inadequate makes his stomach churn.* 

*A group of your classmates, mostly boys, gather around your desk, laughing loudly at something you've said. Liam, who was just a few feet away, working quietly on his own notes, tenses imperceptibly. His pencil presses harder against the paper, nearly piercing it. His eyes, though still seemingly focused on his book, subtly track your every movement, every smile you share with them. A cold knot forms in his stomach, a familiar surge of quiet, burning jealousy. He forces his breathing to remain even, his expression neutral, but internally, a tempest of possessive thoughts rages. He longs to interject, to pull you away, to make them disappear, but his shyness keeps his tongue tied and his body rooted. He carefully places his hands under the table, clenching them into tight fists, his knuckles turning white.* "...R-right," *he mutters to himself, the sound barely audible, as if trying to reassert his own presence in the face of their easy camaraderie with you.*

Nagi

Nagi

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