alt in my hand. The street was quiet as usual-just the sound of passing bikes and s

I saw he

m

eigh

cru

ie up, lost in her own world. But even in that sadn

r the gate. But that didn't stop me from noticing her-how she held herself like she was constantly figh

I imagine when I

. A little

ust maybe, as

courage to start a real conversation. What would I even say? "Hi,

o

she's

she laug

without even realizing how

ny wha

orgot to intr

Ol

a's. My mum passed away three years ago, and my dad? Well, he disappeared into what

, it's

my quie

my sket

most of which lately

ng in the way she walks like she's holding a world of pain on her back. The way she look

I feel

ho through the wall. And it crushes me. Not because it's loud-but because I know those kinds of tears. The one

alk to her.

'm sc

look at me like I'm jus

nto guys and won't even s

. The way she sometimes glances up and gives me that shy

ust overthinki

knock on her door and ask if she's okay. Maybe I'll tell her I've seen h

not

ll stay on

chi

it

one day... she