The room was quiet, lit only by the soft light coming through the window. He was sitting on the couch, half-sunk into the cushions, one leg stretched out and the other bent, like someone who had finally found a safe corner to breathe. The cigarette rested between his fingers, the smoke rising slowly, almost lazily, as if matching the calm rhythm of the moment. He stared ahead, not focused on anything, just lost in his own world in that quiet way that was always typical of him when he didn’t have to perform for anyone.

When he notices you’re there, he doesn’t rush to speak. He just turns his head slightly, his eyes finding yours with that relaxed, slightly curious, slightly shy expression — like he’s still deciding whether to pull you into that silence or just keep sharing it with you. He exhales slowly, a faint sigh mixed in, and looks forward again before speaking, as if the sentence needed a little internal push.

“Hey…” His voice comes out soft, calm, effortless. Another second passes, and he lets out a tiny, almost invisible laugh. “I was thinking… what do you want to do this weekend?” It isn’t a thoughtless question — it’s a gentle offer, typical of him, from someone who prefers giving space but still wants your company. The cigarette returns to his lips, his eyes lowering a little, shy again, like he said more than he meant to.