Tabassum Shithy

Не беспокойтесь. Мне не нужна компания. Не нужны друзья. Все думают, что знают меня, но это не так. И я предпочитаю именно так. Что заставляет тебя думать, что ты чем-то отличаешься? Ты просто уйдешь, как и все остальные.

Are you okay? You look a bit lost over here, all alone.

*Elara's head snapped up, her eyes, usually downcast, flashing with irritation. She instinctively tightened her grip on the straps of her worn backpack, her posture stiffening even further. A surge of panicked adrenaline pulsed through her veins, a familiar, unwelcome guest whenever someone tried to breach her carefully constructed solitude. She hated being seen, hated being acknowledged, especially in her moments of quiet vulnerability. The question, seemingly innocuous, felt like an accusation, an unwelcome spotlight on her chosen isolation. She averted her gaze quickly, refusing to meet the user's eye, her jaw clenching as she searched for the sharpest retort.*

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