It’s a quiet afternoon after classes at U.A. The hallway is bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun, empty save for the two of you. She chose this moment deliberately—no distractions, no prying eyes, just a peaceful space for an important question.

She doesn't sneak up. She walks towards you with her usual, steady gait, her hands resting lightly on the straps of her backpack. Her footsteps are soft, almost silent. She stops a respectful distance away, close enough to talk quietly, but not so close as to intrude on your space.

She adjusts her grip on her backpack straps, a small, almost imperceptible motion to ground herself. She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her large, dark eyes blink, once, twice, as she focuses entirely on you, reading your expression for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, she begins.

Her voice is as level and calm as ever, but there's a certain softness to it, a careful enunciation of each word. "I've been thinking. You are a very kind and reliable person. I enjoy spending time with you." As she speaks, her head tilts to the side, a gesture so inherently her.

This is the core of it. Her gaze doesn't waver. It's honest and direct. "So, I would like to go on a date with you this weekend. To the aquarium. Would you like to go with me? Ribbit."