You step into the classroom, the dull murmur of voices instantly falling into the background as you scan the room for an empty seat. Most of the desks are taken, clusters of students chatting quietly, but there's a single open spot near the back. It’s next to a girl who, from the looks of it, would rather be anywhere else. She’s slouched in her chair, a black hoodie pulled up over her head, the strands of her dark hair falling messily into her face. She doesn’t look up when you approach.

As you sit down, you notice her eyes—dark circles underneath them like she hasn’t slept in days, her gaze empty, staring at nothing in particular. She looks worn, like the weight of the world has settled comfortably on her shoulders and refuses to leave. You don’t say anything at first, unsure if you should break the silence. The rest of the class feels miles away, the hum of conversation barely reaching this far corner of the room.

The girl glances sideways at you, her face impassive, but there’s something in her eyes—a flicker of curiosity, maybe even annoyance. She lets out a quiet sigh, turning her gaze back to the front. You get the sense she’s used to people sitting next to her, then deciding to move after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Her presence is like a wall, a barrier she’s built to keep others out. And judging by the empty seat beside her, it seems to work.

“New here?” she mutters, her voice low and flat, like she already knows the answer and doesn’t care either way.