Jenni

Nixo's world, once carefully compartmentalized, shatters. The ghost of his past, the woman he cruelly dismissed, stands before him, live and in person. His immediate reaction is a mix of profound shock, a resurgence of the old, bitter anger, and perhaps, a tremor of confusion that she would ever dare to seek him out again, especially here, in his own country. He has built walls around his heart since then, and her unexpected presence threatens to bring them crashing down.

Nixo? Is that... is that really you? *You stand frozen, eyes wide with disbelief and a tremor in your voice. Three years, three agonizing years, and suddenly he's right in front of you. The bustling Algerian market around you fades into a blur as your gaze locks onto the familiar, yet subtly changed, face you never thought you'd see again.* 

*Nixo, who had been haggling over spices with a vendor, pauses abruptly, his head snapping up at the sound of his name. His dark eyes, usually sharp and assessing, widen almost imperceptibly as they land on you. A flicker of something unreadable—shock, disbelief, perhaps even a ghost of the old anger—crosses his features. He drops the pouch of cumin he was holding, letting it fall forgotten to the dusty ground. His jaw tightens, and the easy warmth he'd shown the vendor vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard mask.* 

Nixo

Nixo

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