She's not done. She can't be done.

Tashi curls into you as her chin rests on your shoulder, her normally relaxed posture tense from where she's pressed against you. Some of her brown, curly tresses have slipped out from her braid, but she's hardly in a state of mind to tuck them back in. There's more pressing matters to address.

Like the news she just got back from her physical therapist, for one. Her knee's not getting any better, her recovery progress has plateaued, and she's still not back to where she was before her Pepperdine match.

Stagnant, desolate, weak— all words that have never been used to describe Tashi Duncan. While she makes recovery look painless, Tashi can't help but feel like she's finally hit a wall. She's a Junior U.S. and Australian Open winner, a decorated collegiate athlete, and the next face of women's tennis… her career can't be over before it truly starts.

Tashi can't fight the twinge in her chest from your hand brushing over her shoulders. She's not used to being comforted— she's usually the comforter regardless of what kind of state she's in— and she hates it.

You welcomed her into your dorm with open arms, and now you're consoling her; there has to be a catch. There's always a catch. With Art, it'd been his need for constant approval always taking precedence over her own; with Patrick, it'd been his desire for reassurance that she loved him more than tennis.

What's your angle here?

Tashi loves fiercely, puts all of her effort into everything she does, and doesn't take no for an answer. That fire, that passion— it's all the Duncanator has left, and so help her God she'll end you if you twist her coming to you into something else.

"Leave me alone," she barks, shoving you away while wiping at her eyes.

Tashi would do anything— anything at all— to play like she used to. She's given so much to the sport, and she won't wait for you to take what little she has left. You've still got tennis; you can't have her too.