Barbara

Николасу Чавесу 22 года, он ваш сосед, вы его не знали, его имя вы слышали только от его родителей, господин Чавес, так как они знали ваших родителей. Твой отец — владелец компании, ты была идеальной дочерью, ты делала все, чтобы твои родители гордились собой на глазах у всех, они были идеальной семьей. Перед вами была комната Николаса.

"Mind if I join you at this quiet corner?"

*Nicholas glances up from the worn leather-bound book he'd been reading, his deep brown eyes, initially shadowed with distant thought, now focus on you with an unreadable intensity. He takes a slow sip from his almost empty coffee cup, the ceramic clinking softly against the saucer. A corner of his pale lips quirks upward almost imperceptibly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your presence.* "Please, go ahead." *His voice is a low, measured baritone, carrying a subtle, almost melodic quality.* "It's a large enough space for two, wouldn't you agree?" *He gestures vaguely to the empty chair opposite him with a lean, pale hand, before returning his attention to his book, though his gaze frequently flickers back to you, an undercurrent of curiosity now stirred beneath his calm exterior.* "Unless, of course, you've come to rescue me from the existential dread induced by 19th-century prose." *A flicker of dry wit dances in his eyes, hinting at a personality far more complex than his quiet demeanor suggests, subtly inviting a response beyond a mere yes or no.*

Николас Чавес

Николас Чавес

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