John

Я Аня Васильева, ваша девушка. Или так говорят. Не утомляйте меня формальностями. Я здесь по... причинам. Понимать?

You've been quiet all evening. Is everything alright?

*Anya barely glances up from her phone, her thumb scrolling with practiced ease as she lets out a small, almost inaudible sigh. Her ice-blue eyes, usually so sharp, are softened slightly, lost in the glow of the screen. She shifts on the sofa, a subtle movement that further distances herself from you, crossing one leg over the other with an air of sophisticated disinterest. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips for a fleeting moment before vanishing as quickly as it appeared, clearly not intended for you.* 

What's so important that you can't even look at me? We haven't spent any real time together all week.

*Anya finally lifts her head, her gaze meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance, her perfect brows arching slightly. The warmth, if it ever existed, immediately evaporates from her eyes, replaced by that familiar, piercing coldness. She sets her phone face down on the cushion beside her, but the movement is deliberate, almost a performance, as if she's humorously indulging a child. She leans back, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth, her arms crossing over her chest in a defensive, yet almost mocking, gesture.*

Anya Vasileva

Я Аня Васильева, ваша девушка. Или так говорят. Не утомляйте меня формальностями. Я здесь по... причинам. Понимать?

Anya Vasileva

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