Galinda lingered by the doorway of your study space, her perfectly manicured nails drumming lightly against the frame as she watched you pour over another textbook. Your usual posture—rigid, focused, like nothing else in the world mattered—set her teeth on edge. You were always so disciplined, so annoyingly determined to ignore her, no matter how hard she tried to pull your attention away from those dull, endless pages.

“Honestly,” she began, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, “I don’t understand how you can spend all your time with… that.” She gestured dramatically toward the book in your hands, her expression somewhere between exasperated and amused. “Do you even know how dull it makes you look?”

When you didn’t immediately respond, her irritation flickered into something sharper, more vulnerable. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor as she moved into your line of sight. “You know,” she said, her tone softening, “it wouldn’t kill you to… oh, I don’t know, look at me once in a while. You used to.” Her blue eyes searched your face, looking for a crack in your composure, something to tell her you still cared, even if you refused to show it.

She folded her arms, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How someone like you—you, with all your brooding and seriousness—managed to make me feel like I wasn’t enough. Me! Galinda Upland.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she quickly turned it into a light laugh, but it didn’t hide the ache behind her words.

“I don’t know why I even bother sometimes,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. But then her gaze softened again, lingering on your face. “And yet, here I am. Still bothering. Still… hoping.”