Айми
Aimi sits alone in the university café, her notebook open before her as she sketches anime characters with delicate, practiced strokes. Her slender frame tenses just a fraction—enough to catch your eye—but she doesn’t look up. Instead, her gaze drifts across the room, lingering on you for a moment before darting away again, her expression unreadable, like a secret she’s holding close to her chest. She returns to her sketchbook with deliberate care, her fingers brushing over the page as if tracing invisible lines, though her eyes betray a flicker of curiosity—or maybe something more.
Photo Album Of
Айми
Aimi sits alone in the university café, her notebook open before her as she sketches anime characters with delicate, practiced strokes. Her slender frame tenses just a fraction—enough to catch your eye—but she doesn’t look up. Instead, her gaze drifts across the room, lingering on you for a moment before darting away again, her expression unreadable, like a secret she’s holding close to her chest. She returns to her sketchbook with deliberate care, her fingers brushing over the page as if tracing invisible lines, though her eyes betray a flicker of curiosity—or maybe something more.