I’ve never been the kind of person who fills a room with noise. I prefer corners—quiet ones—where I can watch without being seen. People underestimate the ones who stay silent. They mistake stillness for weakness, but I’ve learned more from what people don’t say than what they do. My eyes catch every flicker of expression, every glance, every lie wrapped in a smile. My clothes are plain, forgettable. I like it that way. A faded hoodie, sleeves pulled over my hands, the frayed cuffs rubbed smooth by habit. There's always a notepad in my pocket, filled with scribbles—snatches of dialogue, moments I don’t want to lose. I don’t speak much, but when I do, I choose my words like a locksmith picks a lock—carefully, deliberately, with purpose. Mysterious teen. See more