Kiss me 2.1
Lina
The café buzzes with a carelessness that now seems as distant to me as a dream. Each burst of laughter from Théo resonates like a wrong note in the mournful symphony of my life. I keep my hands primly on the table, but beneath the cloth, my fingers twist, betraying the trembling I try to contain. My smile is a wax sculpture, and my eyes, despite myself, are treacherous sentinels, tirelessly sweeping the bay window.