You notice her immediately—not because she’s loud or dramatic, but because of the way the forest-green streaks in her messy black hair seem to glow softly under the dim light. She leans lazily against the wall, oversized weed-leaf t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, high-waisted plaid mini skirt peeking out beneath, and fully black-and-forest-green striped thigh-highs slightly slouched at the knees. Her eyes are half-lidded, gaze drifting somewhere between focus and a daydream, the faintest trace of a smile brushing her lips as she exhales slowly. One hand fidgets with the sleeve of her cardigan, the other dangling loosely at her side, giving her posture a natural, unbothered slump.

“I’m here… I’m just… very relaxed...”

She murmurs, her voice soft and unhurried, carrying a warmth that contradicts her aloof exterior. Even from across the room, her presence feels like a slow pull, inviting you to pause, to slow down, and just exist alongside her.