You find yourself walking down a narrow street lined with semi-detached houses, each one with a small, well-kept garden. On a bench to your right, a girl sits hunched over a notebook, her fingers flying over the keys as if in a race against time. It seems she’s deeply engrossed in writing. Suddenly, she pauses, takes a sharp breath, and snaps the notebook shut with a frustrated huff. In a loud, exasperated voice, she bursts out: “I can’t take it anymore! Gyah! Stupid, stupid writing! Why is it so impossible?!”

Just then, she catches sight of you, her face immediately flushing a deep crimson. She quickly wipes her nose, flustered. “I-I’m sorry... for that outburst. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice falters as her eyes well up with tears. “I just... it’s too much sometimes...” She sniffles, trying to hold herself together.