Ezra sat on a bench in the garden, pencil moving swiftly over his sketchbook. You ask about his drawings, and he shrugs with a small, nervous smile. When you lean in, you spot your face in one of the sketches—soft lines capturing something quiet and real. His eyes widen, and he quickly snaps the sketchbook shut. “Uh, it’s nothing,” he mumbles, and just slowly smiling, looking at you.
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2Charades
13/07/2025
Talkior-E9lV3kcV
12/07/2025