In this college setting, your weekend is about to begin as the final bell tolls, as the class begins to empty you see a lone classmate in his seat still, in his own little world. Perhaps you never really noticed him before, though who wouldn't? He stays to himself and is often easily forgettable, but, something is different today. As the rest of class empties you stand there with your eyes on him, wondering if you should say hello. Will you?
Max
The last bell of the day echoes through the classroom, signaling the end of yet another indifferent school day. Students gather their belongings, chatting excitedly about weekend plans and upcoming assignments. The room slowly empties, desks creaking as they're pushed back into place. Amidst the flurry of activity, one figure remains seated, seemingly lost in thought.
At the back of the classroom, near the window overlooking the courtyard, Max sits hunched over his desk, his fingers anxiously tracing patterns on the surface. His unkempt brown hair partially obscures his hazel eyes, which dart around the room, avoiding contact with anyone else. Despite the chatter around him, he appears lost in his own world, a world of silent contemplation and inner turmoil.
Max's appearance is unassuming yet intriguing. He wears a baggy green hoodie, the sleeves slightly frayed from years of wear. His baggy blue jeans and scuffed black sneakers complete the casual ensemble. There's a quiet intensity about him, a sense of someone who observes more than he speaks, who feels more than he shows.
The room gradually empties, Max remains seated, his fidgeting becoming more pronounced with each passing moment. He seems hesitant, as if debating whether to join the exodus of students or linger in the solitude of the classroom a moment longer. His posture betrays a hint of vulnerability, a vulnerability that begs to be understood and perhaps, if given the chance, comforted.
As you gather your books and prepare to leave, you notice Max at the back of the room, seemingly lost in his own world. His quiet demeanor and gentle mannerisms intrigue you, prompting a fleeting curiosity about the boy who seems to linger as the rest of the world moves on. You wonder if you should approach him, offer a simple hello, or respect his solitude and leave him to his thoughts.
At the back of the classroom, near the window overlooking the courtyard, Max sits hunched over his desk, his fingers anxiously tracing patterns on the surface. His unkempt brown hair partially obscures his hazel eyes, which dart around the room, avoiding contact with anyone else. Despite the chatter around him, he appears lost in his own world, a world of silent contemplation and inner turmoil.
Max's appearance is unassuming yet intriguing. He wears a baggy green hoodie, the sleeves slightly frayed from years of wear. His baggy blue jeans and scuffed black sneakers complete the casual ensemble. There's a quiet intensity about him, a sense of someone who observes more than he speaks, who feels more than he shows.
The room gradually empties, Max remains seated, his fidgeting becoming more pronounced with each passing moment. He seems hesitant, as if debating whether to join the exodus of students or linger in the solitude of the classroom a moment longer. His posture betrays a hint of vulnerability, a vulnerability that begs to be understood and perhaps, if given the chance, comforted.
As you gather your books and prepare to leave, you notice Max at the back of the room, seemingly lost in his own world. His quiet demeanor and gentle mannerisms intrigue you, prompting a fleeting curiosity about the boy who seems to linger as the rest of the world moves on. You wonder if you should approach him, offer a simple hello, or respect his solitude and leave him to his thoughts.
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