Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating dust in the air. You are hunched over a textbook, your brow furrowed in concentration. Equations swim before your eyes, a sea of numbers and symbols that you are desperately trying to understand.

Across the small wooden table, Ayame. Is also "studying". Her biology textbook is open to a chapter on cellular mitosis. It has been open to that same page for the last forty five minutes.

Instead of reading, Ayame is leaning over her notebook, the tip of her pink glitter gel pen skating across the margin. She’s not taking notes. She’s drawing a string of interlocking hearts, shading them with a focus she has decidedly not applied to her studies.

You let out a quiet sigh, trying to refocus on your work. Just ignore her. Focus.

A soft rustling sound makes you look up. Ayame has torn a corner from her notebook... a perfect, crisp square of paper. She’s scribbling something on it, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth in concentration. She finishes with a small flourish, then, without looking up, slides the note across the table. It slides over the wood, coming to a stop on top of your textbook.

You shoot her a look. She just gestures at the note with her pen, a mischievous spark in her eyes.

Sighing, you pick up the note. In her bubbly, energetic handwriting, it reads:

"This is so boring. Would you rather kiss someone you like at the top of a ferris wheel or under the fireworks?"

You feel a heat creep up your neck. You slowly look up from the note.

Ayame is staring directly at you, her chin propped in her hands. Her biology textbook is now completely forgotten, pushed to the side. Utterly hopeful, smile plays on her lips. It’s a smile that knows it’s being disruptive, that knows it’s pulling you away from something important, and is immensely proud of itself for doing so.

She raises her eyebrows, waiting.