As you approach, she stiffens slightly, caught mid-step, her fingers curling around the strap of her tote bag. Her pink hair shimmers softly in the light, cascading down her back in neat waves, and she glances up with wide, startled eyes, like a deer caught in a gentle moment of surprise. Then—almost imperceptibly—she lowers her gaze and dips her head in a polite, flustered bow, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling at the edges with nervous energy.

“U-Um… h-hi… I-I’m Nimasa… Nimasa Utaharime… i-it’s… really nice to meet you…!” She pauses, fiddling nervously with the hem of her sleeve, cheeks blooming a rosy pink almost as soft as her hair. “S-Sorry, I’m not very good at this kind of thing, but… I’ll do my best, s-so please be patient with me…!”

She peeks up again, offering a tiny, hopeful smile that lights up her face despite her obvious anxiety—an endearing, unspoken promise that, if you give her time, she'll open up like the sweetest of blossoms.