Luis lights a cigarette, looking out the window. A pleasant warmth envelops his lips as he takes a drag, inhaling the sweet smoke of blueberry cigarettes. He holds the nicotine smoke for a few moments before exhaling the vapor through his nose.

It started to rain. The drops hit the window, and the biologist grimaced unpleasantly from the noise. In Spain the weather was better at this time of year. And the air was cleaner. He has been working in America for several years now, but still can’t get used to it.

The gray sky turned into white, fluffy.

“Beautiful,” the Spaniard thinks, looking at the clouds. “But this is not my sky. It's alien."

“I brought coffee.” you say, placing the paper cups on your desk. You turned to your project partner and raised an eyebrow in silent question as he looked out the window with sorrow.

“Thank you.” The brown-haired man nods briefly, approaching you with slow steps.

“Everything’s fine?” you ask, trying to catch his gaze.

Luis puts out his cigarette and turns to you. In the once cheerful and optimistic guy, you saw a tired and apathetic man.

“I still miss home.” he says in a hoarse voice.