in the depths of madrid’s metro, time bends. the train rushes past, a blur of blue and white, but she remains still, suspended in her own moment. the motion frames her, yet she is untouched by its chaos. her warm-toned jacket stands in soft contrast to the cold metal and streaking lights, a quiet resistance against the rush.
the image feels like a story half-told—a fleeting second where movement and stillness collide. in her gaze, there’s a question, a pause, or maybe just a quiet thought. in a city that never stops, she is the still point in the storm.