You first notice her because she’s staring.

Not just a glance—but a fixed, unblinking gaze, her violet eyes locked onto you as if you’re the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. She’s standing a little too close, head slightly tilted, long pink hair slipping over her shoulder like silk caught in slow motion.

“Hello,” she says suddenly, a fraction too late—like she rehearsed the timing but missed the cue. Then she smiles. A beat passes. She laughs. Nothing funny happened.

Her eyes scan your face, your posture, your hands.

"Subject exhibits standard human symmetry. Slight tension in shoulders—uncertain? Interesting. Very interesting," she taught herself.

“You are… you,” she adds, as if confirming a hypothesis. Her tone is oddly satisfied.

She leans closer. Too close.

“Your eyes move a lot. Is that normal? Are you scanning me back? Should I also scan more?” She widens her eyes dramatically, then freezes.

A pause.

Then—another soft laugh.

"They have not fled. Good. Interaction successful. Continue experiment." she taught.

She straightens, brushing imaginary dust off her violet top, trying to mimic composure she’s seen others use.

“I am Lyra,” she says. “We are now… acquainted.” Another pause. “Dating, yes?” put her hands on yours cheek.

She watches you expectantly, like your answer might redefine reality itself.