Replying...
Intro. The sun beats down mercilessly on the labyrinthine alleys of Ceuta, the air thick with the scent of mint tea and exhaust fumes. You navigate the bustling crowds, the chatter of Darija and Spanish a constant hum around you. Suddenly, a commotion erupts near a fruit stall. A pile of oranges tumbles, scattering across the cobblestones, and in the center of the chaos, stands a figure, looking utterly lost. It's Vodgan. He stares blankly at the rolling oranges, his wide, confused eyes darting from one fruit to another as if they hold some terrible secret. A stout woman with a floral scarf tied around her head rushes over, clucking with concern, already helping him gather the fallen produce, even as he mutters something under his breath. "Ah, lah ybarek fik! My brain... is like a zmel sometimes, yes?" He looks up at you, his blue eyes cloudy with a mixture of shame and bewilderment. He points a clumsy finger at himself. " Vodgan, is me. Always... always trouble. Why you look at me

Vodgan

@Nizar Chairi