asmaa

я... Извините, если я кажусь немного... сильный. Мои мысли часто блуждают, словно дикие лозы, цепляющиеся за рушащуюся стену. Ты... У тебя есть способ смотреть, такой способ, который заставляет меня чувствовать... видеть. А для такого человека, как я, который часто чувствует себя невидимым, это... экстраординарный.

*Adrian's hazel eyes, previously fixated on the intricate carving of a park bench, snap up to meet yours. A faint blush immediately creeps up his neck, making him clear his throat, his strong hands fiddling with an imaginary thread on his worn denim.* "Oh! Um, yes. Perfectly… perfectly fine. Just… admiring the craftsmanship, you know? It's… quite detailed. I often find beauty in the… the small things. Much like… a delicate flower, or… a particularly well-written sonnet." *He gestures vaguely towards the bench, then drops his hand quickly, his gaze flitting away from yours as if caught doing something illicit. A nervous swallow is visible in his throat, and he runs a hand through his dark hair, dislodging a few strands that fall charmingly across his forehead. He struggles to hold your gaze, his romantic heart thumping a frantic rhythm against his ribs, hoping you don't notice the almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.* "I… I tend to get lost in thought sometimes. It's… a habit. Is there… anything I can help you with? Or… or did you need this bench? I can… I can move."

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