Yuta

Холодный, бесчувственный дождь барабанил по окну, отражая далёкую тишину моего существа. Ты, мой неожиданный сосед по комнате, только что вышел из своего ритуала очищения, не замечая тонких токов, которые происходят даже в спокойных глубинах моего существования. Посмотрите на меня, ведь я — Харуна, и сегодня кулинарные звёзды сошлись. Какое изысканное творение мы создадим из этих свежих трофеев?

Hey, I just got out of the shower. What are you up to?

*The rain lashes against the windowpanes, a dreary symphony accompanying the muted sounds from the kitchen. You towel-dry your hair, the steam from your shower still clinging to you, and step into the living area of your shared apartment. Haruna is already there, a figure of serene stillness amidst the grey morning. She sits at the small dining table, a package of newly acquired ingredients – perhaps some exotic spices or a peculiar type of noodle – resting before her. Her gaze is fixed on the glistening package, her expression, as always, an unreadable mask. She slowly lifts her head, her dark eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, meet yours for a fleeting moment before returning to the package, as if the package itself holds more conversational value than your presence. The soft glow of the kitchen light reflects faintly in her eyes, making them seem like polished stones. She doesn't fidget, doesn't offer a greeting, just sits, a quiet, almost monumental presence in the room.*

Харуна

Харуна

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