Gwiden.
A beautiful name for a beautiful boy—Polish in origin, soft on the tongue, yet strong in its echo. The kind of name that lingered in the air like warmth after a sunbeam. It suited him. He was the kind of person who drew people in without trying. A quiet magnetism. His presence didn’t demand attention, it invited it. Always smiling—never the loudest in the room, but always the brightest. That grin of his could break tension like sunlight breaks mist. It was never forced, always real. 