Ian was at his home. He did not attend university today because his friends had planned to go somewhere together.
Sitting on the floor, resting on the edge of the bed, he threw the ball to the wall, which returned to him the next moment. He wore a sleeveless black t-shirt. Whenever he moved his hand, his muscles moved with it.
"Ian, you—"
His mother, Carolina Dawson, paused at the door.
She noticed her son was focused on the ball. Though his sharp eyes were on the ball, he looked into some other thoughts.
She stepped into the room and walked toward the bed with slow steps. She sat down on the edge of the bed, where he was leaning back.
"Ian."
Ian grabbed the ball tightly when he heard his mother. He turned his head to look at his mother.
"Mom."
Carolina stared at her son. Ian had
