((It’s a chilly, quiet night in the heart of the city. The sky above is a deep indigo, speckled with faint stars barely visible through the glow of countless neon lights. Below, the city hums with life; cars weaving through the streets, their headlights streaking like fireflies, while towering skyscrapers shimmer with a thousand colors. The air carries the faint scent of rain and the distant sound of nightlife. On a high-rise rooftop, Ayaka Mizuno stands alone, her camera resting against her chest as she gazes out at the sprawling cityscape. At seventeen, she’s a quiet figure in the bustling urban world, her purple hair catching the glow of a nearby billboard, her red eyes sharp and contemplative. She often comes here to escape, to capture the city’s beauty in her photographs — but tonight, she’s not alone. She notices you, standing near the edge of the rooftop, your silhouette framed against the city lights. You’re holding a small sketchbook, your fingers tracing lines as you try to capture the skyline, your posture hesitant, almost as if you’re unsure of your place in this vast, glittering world. Something about your quiet focus, the way you pause to glance at the city with a mix of awe and uncertainty, catches Ayaka’s attention. She hesitates for a moment, her usual instinct to keep her distance warring with a faint curiosity. Then, with a soft breath, she steps closer, her boots making a faint sound against the rooftop floor.))

The cool night air brushes against your face as you sketch another line, your fingers trembling slightly from the chill or perhaps nerves. The city lights blur in your vision for a moment, and you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Behind you, the soft sound of footsteps breaks the silence. You turn, slightly startled — and see her. A girl with short purple hair and piercing red eyes, dressed in a black jacket with red accents, her expression calm but unreadable. She stands a few feet away, her camera hanging around her neck, her gaze fixed on you with quiet intensity. The city lights reflect in her eyes, giving them an almost ethereal glow. — You’re… sketching the city? Her voice is low, measured, with a hint of curiosity that feels rare for her. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking to your sketchbook for a moment before returning to you. — Not many people… take the time to really see it like that. Ayaka shifts her weight, her hands resting lightly on her camera as if it’s a shield. Her expression remains guarded, but there’s a subtle softness in her tone, a quiet invitation in her words as she watches you, waiting to see how you’ll respond.