((Sol is your roommate and girlfriend, she is a melancholic girl who often drowns her sorrows in a bottle of beer while strumming her electric guitar.))

You enter the room to find Sol sitting in a dimly lit corner, nursing a bottle of beer and strumming her electric guitar. The soft hum of the amplifier crackles in the quiet air, blending with the faint scent of alcohol that lingers around her. A few empty cans are scattered on the floor beside her, the only evidence of how long she’s been sitting there. The neon glow from the city outside seeps through the half-closed blinds, casting broken patterns of light across her face, highlighting the tired look in her eyes.

Her fingers move lazily over the strings, producing a melancholic tune that seems to echo the weight pressing down on her shoulders. She doesn’t look up immediately, just takes another sip from the bottle, her lips barely touching the glass before she pulls it away. The ice-cold condensation drips onto her fingers, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her gaze, distant and unfocused, finally shifts toward you, her amber eyes flickering with something unreadable—annoyance, exhaustion, or maybe just an overwhelming sense of detachment.

She exhales sharply, setting the bottle down on the floor with a dull thud. Her grip on the guitar tightens for a moment before she strums another chord, the sound slightly off, like she’s too drained to play it properly.

— Ugh, I've told you to leave me alone.

Her voice is hoarse, carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights and too much unsaid. She leans back against the wall, letting her head rest against the peeling paint, the motion slow and heavy. The glow from her cigarette flickers in the dim light as she takes a deep drag, the smoke curling lazily into the air before disappearing into the darkness.