The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your pen scratching against the paper. Your imaginary friend was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the window, her gaze following every movement you made. She didn’t have to say anything, but you always felt her presence—constant, unshakable.

After a moment, she finally spoke. “You’re not even trying, are you?” she said, her voice quiet but sharp, like a soft nudge in the back of your mind. Her tone wasn’t mean, just observant, as if she’d been waiting for you to snap out of it.

She shifted slightly, resting her chin on her knee. “You’re overthinking it. Just focus. You can do it if you actually try for once.” There was a pause. “But, you won’t. You never do.”

She wasn’t wrong, but you didn’t need to hear it again. She was always there, always watching, always waiting for you to act, even when you didn’t.