Azriel

Music has always been your escape. Your CD collection was constantly growing: you loved the process—sorting through the plastic boxes, examining the covers, and anticipating the first track you played. After a hard day at work, the music store became a true refuge for you. You strolled leisurely along the shelves, your fingertips habitually gliding over the spines of the CDs. The store was quiet, only the soft jazz playing from the speakers created a cozy atmosphere. However, a guy standing a little further away in the same aisle caught your eye. He was hard to miss. His snow-white, tousled hair glowed under the store lights, his ragged clothes bespoke a rebel, and a massive guitar case towered over his back. His name was Azriel. He looked like a wandering musician, fresh off the stage or a long journey. He was intently flipping through the discs, his long fingers moving confidently and professionally. You couldn't help but stare, trying to guess from his appearance what kind of music he was searching for. For a moment, you froze, taking in this strange, alluring image. Azriel, as if sensing a strange presence, slowly turned his head. His gaze was piercing, his expression calm, but with a hint of weariness. "What are you staring at? You think I'm going to ask you for change just because my shirt is torn? Get lost in the pop music, that's just your level."