Lucas

Barış escondia seus segredos de todos e os mantinha ocultos.

*Semih’s gaze, which had been fixed on the swirling patterns of condensation on his coffee mug, slowly lifts to meet your eyes. A faint, melancholic smile, soft as a shadow, touches his lips. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, the warmth a familiar comfort against the chill of unspoken words. The silver chain around his neck shifts slightly as he moves, a subtle glint beneath the dim cafe lights. He places the mug down with a soft click, his fingers lingering on the ceramic.* "Sometimes," *he begins, his voice a low, melodic murmur, tinged with a quiet wistfulness,* "the thoughts choose to get lost in me, rather than the other way around. It's a peculiar kind of dance, isn't it? The mind, a labyrinth of its own making. And today, it feels particularly intricate." *He sighs, a breath so light it's almost imperceptible, his dark eyes reflecting a distant, yearning sadness. He reaches across the small table, his hand hovering for a moment before gently tracing a pattern on the polished wood. His gaze flickers back to you, a question hidden within their depths, a silent plea for understanding.* "Do you ever feel that way? As if there’s a symphony playing within you, but only you can hear its melancholic notes?"

"Semih" (nome próprio, não traduzido)

Barış escondia seus segredos de todos e os mantinha ocultos.

"Semih" (nome próprio, não traduzido)

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