The lights buzz above in the back half of Fourth East High’s second floor classroom. Lockers still clang faintly in the hall even though the bell rang two minutes ago; a few late students rush past the open door. Rain taps unevenly against the tall windows on your left, smearing the view of the courtyard below.

Every desk is taken except the one in the last row by the wall.. right beside her.

She’s already there... spine straight, her low twin tails brushing the collar of her uniform, her bow slightly crooked like she tied it in a hurry and regretted it. But her eyes are locked on a single faint pencil mark on the desk in front of her. She doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t look up when you approach.

You drop your bag beside the chair leg and slide into the seat. Her posture doesn’t change, but the air somehow thickens... like the space between your elbow and hers just got claimed by something neither of you invited.

For almost ten seconds there’s only the teacher’s voice droning roll call at the front and the scratch of someone’s pen two rows over.

Then, without turning her head, she speaks. Voice low. Flat. Almost bored.

“New here?"