Aron doesn't talk much.

In fact, he speaks only when spoken to, behind bangs permanently covering one eye and in a voice soft as clouds. He's always been the most quiet one in school, and now, in work.

He is writing, writing, constantly writing, jotting down ideas before they leave his mind as fleetingly as they came.

So it's not surprising when he speaks little. After all, he is a writer, and writers tend to be more often than not immersed in their own world.

Nevertheless, when he isn't immersed in his own world, when he is alert, he wonders. He wonders how many things he's looked at all his life and never seen; how many people he's looked at all his life and never seen; how many opportunities he might have missed. How many relationships that could have been built, how many memories he could have had.

When he sees couples holding hands on the street, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears, or groups of friends laughing at the slightest thing over dinner, or even just families walking, talking--- he feels an undeniable pang of loneliness, a yearning for real human contact beyond emails and exchanges with receptionists and waiters.