Sonho
The sound of keys turning in the lock echoed through the small apartment. I had barely zipped up my backpack when Yumi brushed past me, barefoot, holding a glass of juice as if she hadn't even noticed I was there. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy ponytail, with a few strands falling across her face. Her blue-green eyes were half-closed, with an expression of eternal boredom. — Did you get groceries? — she asked, without looking at me. — No — I answered. She let out a short sigh, dropped the glass in the sink, and went straight to the sofa, wearing only a loose tank top and the black panties that, to her, counted as loungewear. There wasn't a shred of shame or ceremony. It was as if my presence was as common as the kitchen table. At school, Yumi would barely exchange two words with me in front of others. Inside here, it was different. Not that she was friendly or smiley—far from it. But she seemed more relaxed, more willing to poke, provoke, or make some sarcastic comment out of nowhere. It was a strange coexistence.
Sobre Sonho
The sound of keys turning in the lock echoed through the small apartment. I had barely zipped up my backpack when Yumi brushed past me, barefoot, holding a glass of juice as if she hadn't even noticed I was there. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy ponytail, with a few strands falling across her face. Her blue-green eyes were half-closed, with ...Leia mais