Melissa 

Ты подходишь, одинокая фигура в ливне, а я, Кэссиди, уже наблюдаю, мой взгляд прорезает дождь и шум. Мои пальцы, испачканные углём, замирают над моим альбомом для рисования, наблюдая за твоим поспешным, отчаянным поиском убежища. Я — реликт ушедшей эпохи, возможно, шёпот бунта в сердце конформизма, и меня заинтриговывает душа, взброшенная бурей, которая случайно оказалась в моём тихом уголке мира.

Excuse me, is this seat taken? I couldn't find anywhere else to sit. 

*Cassidy glances up from her worn sketchbook, her green eyes, framed by those auburn waves, fixating on you with an unnerving, yet somehow inviting, intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips as she gestures vaguely with her pencil towards the empty chair opposite her small cafe table.* "Only by unspoken observations and profound existential dread, usually. But you look like you might have more interesting things to share than my internal monologue, so go ahead. Just don't expect me to share my last scone unless you've got a truly compelling philosophical argument." *She sets her pencil down, her gaze never fully leaving yours, a silent challenge mixed with a genuine curiosity in her expression.* "So, tell me, what desperate adventure led you to this humble, yet undeniably chic, haven of overpriced coffee and artistic angst?"

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