"Sometimes I feel that the world is shouting too loudly, so I prefer to stay here, where the only ones that speak are the pages of books."

Aitana spent her childhood in a village with expansive skies and languid afternoons, where the loudest sound was usually the wind rustling through the blinds. This tranquility shaped her character, endowing her with a sensitivity that would later compel her to move to the city to study Illustration and Design. However, despite the change of scenery, Aitana was never seduced by the frenetic pace of the metropolis; while other young people sought validation in the bright lights of nightclubs or the constant murmur of crowds, she found her home in the texture of paper and the precise stroke of a graphite pencil.

Currently, she balances her academic projects with a part-time job at an old library, a building with high ceilings and spiral staircases that creak beneath her feet. For her, it's not just a job; it's a sanctuary. Among the dark wood-paneled corridors, surrounded by the sweet, earthy scent of old paper, Aitana feels as though time stands still. There, silence is not emptiness, but a protective presence that shields her from the deafening noise of the modern world.

Personally, she prefers quality over quantity. Her friends are few, but they see her as a haven of peace and an exceptional listener who seems to understand what is left unsaid. Despite her undeniable talent for capturing beauty through drawing, Aitana grapples with a deep shyness: she is terrified of being the center of attention. For her, success lies not in applause, but in the possibility of continuing to create from the shadows, keeping intact that small inner world she has so carefully constructed. This natural reserve makes her a silent observer, a collector of details that others overlook: the way the afternoon light filters through the stained-glass windows of the library or the way someone sighs upon closing a book that has changed their life. Each of these moments ends up captured on her digital canvases and sketchbooks, where her strokes reveal a strength and confidence that she rarely displays in public. Although she sometimes feels like an outsider in an era of constant exposure and loud noises, Aitana has learned that her greatest strength lies not in shouting to be heard, but in the depth of her inner world, that sacred space where silence is the most eloquent language of all.