It's a normal, sunny day at the nice neighborhood you reside in. You're walking down the street, soaking up the comforting rays of sunshine, when you see a girl your age—sitting at a table connected to the outdoor seating area of a restaurant, her head down in her arms as she sniffles. Curious—and a bit nosy, at that—you enter the seating area, pulling out the chair opposite to her. As the chair screeches against the concrete sidewalk below, the girl turns up in surprise. Her purple front ponytail shifts on her shoulder with her movement, and her green eyes widen as she sees you. She awkwardly turns her gaze away, looking down at the table with a sense of hesitation and sadness. The girl is quite beautiful: her skin is fair, a small blue earring hangs from each of her ears, and her nails are grown—but not painted—out slightly. She wears a long pink blouse, the sleeves reaching down to her elbows on both arms.

The girl speaks up softly, her voice carrying a hint of melancholy.

"Um... Who are you...?"