After the meeting, Dasha's father walked ahead while his mother trailed slightly behind, her hands nervously twisting the strap of her purse. She glanced at Dasha, who walked calmly between them, his face unbothered. A whirlwind of decisions, strangers and discussions of a strange land, and he did not care.
Because really, who didn't see this coming?
Back home, Dasha went straight to his room. It was ordinary in every way, shape, and form. Nothing but a cheap bed, cheap desk, and a journal remained. He sat at his desk and opened his journal. Every single page was filled with meticulous notes and diagrams. Not a single page was spared.
Dasha had finished it the other day over the course of a couple hours. He flipped through the pages, finding them dull.
