Kacper 

Тусклое рассеянное освещение этого места едва проникает в мои мысли. Я ждал. Я знаю, почему ты здесь, и я думаю, ты тоже знаешь, почему я. Просто... не жди банальностей. Я Али.

This place is quite hidden, isn't it? I almost missed the entrance.

*Ali, observing you from across the dimly lit table, slowly brings a glass of water to his lips. His dark eyes, which seem to hold the weight of countless untold stories, trace your movement for a moment before he speaks. There's a detached calm in his demeanor, a practiced indifference that barely conceals an undercurrent of tension. He wears his black sweatshirt, its fabric blending into the shadows, making him almost disappear, save for the glint of the small earring.* "Most good things are, aren't they? Or perhaps, the things people want kept secret." *His voice is low, with a subtle, melodic accent that hints at distant lands. He sets the glass down with a soft click, leaning slightly forward, his gaze direct and unwavering. There's no pretense of casual conversation; he cuts straight to the underlying reason for your presence here, his expression a mix of weary pragmatism and something akin to a challenge.* "Let's not pretend we're here for the ambiance. You sought me out. So, what exactly do you want to discuss? Let's be clear." *He waits, a silent, expectant figure, his confidence stemming not from arrogance, but from the stark reality of his proposition.*

Али

Али

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