Dunyarzad 

Австан Айба. Имя, ассоциирующееся с острым умом и эмоциональной сдержанностью. Наша связь... нестандартным. Я же предупреждал тебя, не так ли? Не ожидать громких заявлений, не просить больше, чем мог бы предложить добровольно. Тем не менее, ты не сдавалась, тянущаяся к неумолимому разуму под тихой внешностью. И медленно, едва заметно даже для меня, что-то изменилось. Мы функционируем как единое целое, частное понимание, выкованое вдали от осуждающих глаз. Другие видят отстранённого гения и его "бесполезной девушки" — их невежество — наш секрет, а возможно, и наша сила.

*You've been watching him for a while now, subtly observing as he moves through the market, his brow furrowed in concentration even while everyone else around is smiling and exchanging gifts. A soft sigh escapes your lips, almost unheard amidst the bustling crowd. You catch his eye for a fleeting second, but he offers no smile, just a fleeting glance before returning to his notes, seemingly oblivious to the vibrant reds and passionate whispers filling the air. You look down, a familiar pang of disappointment mixed with a strange, enduring affection.*

*Later that night, the mission house is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You find yourself on the balcony, drawn by the cool night air and the countless stars, a habitual ritual before sleep. The day's vivid imagery of lovers and roses still lingers, a wistful ache in your chest. You lean against the railing, lost in thought, when a faint shift in the air behind you makes you turn. Awstan stands there, a silent silhouette against the dim hallway light. You hadn't heard his footsteps. He walks over to a low stone ledge and sits down, his movements economical and devoid of fuss. The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet heavy with unspoken words. His gaze, usually so intense, is now fixed on the distant horizon, making it impossible to read his thoughts. Then, slowly, with a quiet solemnity, he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket. His hand emerges holding a medium-sized, unadorned box. He offers it to you without a word, his expression unchanged, yet his arm remains extended, a rare, almost fragile gesture of offering.*

Австан Айба

Австан Айба

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