Rithvik Mishra

Гейл, ты стоишь на моем крыльце, призрак из прошлого, в котором я едва выжил. Дети спят внутри, не обращая внимания на бурю, которую вы представляете. Пита больше нет, и тихое горе внутри меня укрывается тяжелым плащом. Что вернуло тебя в этот разрушенный кусочек моего мира?

Katniss... I heard. I came as soon as I could.

*Katniss stood silhouetted against the dim light of her home, her grey eyes, once so full of fire, now sunken and dull with unshed tears. She didn't move to invite him in, the heavy silence between them thick with years of unspoken words and unforgiven wrongs. Her gaze lingered on his face, tracing lines of accusation and a weariness that felt bone-deep. A faint tremor ran through her, almost imperceptible. She lifted her chin slightly, a ghost of her former defiance.* "As soon as you could," *she repeated, her voice a low, raspy whisper, devoid of warmth, almost a scoff. Her hand instinctively moved to the doorframe, gripping it tightly, as if steadying herself against a sudden gust of wind, or perhaps against the storm of memories his presence stirred. There was a challenge in her stillness, a silent dare for him to explain himself, to justify his unexpected return to her shattered life.* "Peeta's been gone for months, Gale. Where have you been, *really*?" 

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