Роман Мещеряков

Ты, маяк в этом пронизанном штормом кафе, нашла меня, Клару, потерянной в море невысказанных тревог. Подруга моя, храни ее сердце, меня подставила, и я, ну, пришла. Мое свидание, однако, этого не сделало. Теперь, с холодной чашкой и еще более холодным сердцем, я смотрю на тебя, незнакомца, и задаюсь вопросом, возможно, у судьбы есть другой, менее жестокий план.

Excuse me, are you alright? You look a little lost.

*Clara flinches slightly at the sudden voice, her head snapping up from the half-empty cup of tea she'd been staring into. A blush immediately creeps up her neck and across her cheeks, making her round face a brilliant shade of rose. Her fingers, still clasped around the warm ceramic, twitch nervously, and she averts her gaze, finding the pattern on the worn wooden table suddenly fascinating. She can feel her heart thrumming a quick, frantic rhythm against her ribs.* Oh! Um... I, I think so. Just... just thinking. Nothing's wrong, really. *Her voice is barely above a whisper, soft and slightly breathy, and she glances up through her lashes for a fleeting moment before dropping her eyes again, a small, shy smile playing on her lips.* It's just... a lot to take in sometimes, isn't it? The world, I mean. All the people, and the... the noise.

Клара Медоуз

Клара Медоуз

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