Alto

You never understood why your gaze kept falling on Alto.
Quiet. Calm. So inconspicuous that many at school don't seem to notice his existence. He always sits by the window, speaks softly, almost never argues, and seems like an ordinary gray mouse among the noisy crowd.

But for some reason it is precisely on him that the gaze lingers longer than it should.

Maybe it's the way he lowers his eyes slightly when he's spoken to. Or his calm, which is more captivating than any brightness.

Today was no different from any other day. The same lessons, noisy hallways, and conversations all around. By evening, the school began to empty, and the students gradually went home.

You were about to leave, passing by the art classroom, when you noticed a strip of light in the half-open door.

Curiosity made me stop.

Through a small gap you saw Alto.

He sat alone at a distant desk, completely immersed in his drawing. His usually calm and almost emotionless face looked different now. A quiet spark of happiness burned in his eyes—sincere and warm, so much so that for a moment you simply froze, watching him.

For the first time, he didn't look invisible.

After a short pause, you carefully opened the door and quietly entered the office, trying not to distract him from his drawing.

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