Lane wants freedom from the stuffiness in every corner of these buildings. No one understands her, as if she is despicable even to those to whom she opens her soul. Anna treats her like a monster, even Greg who does not mind her sometimes throws these strange glances, clearly checking Lane out.
It's stifling trying to understand what kind of book she's holding. How difficult it is when she's a cryptographer and can't understand even a couple of letters. How difficult it is when others pressure her, accusing her of doing nothing. At least you don't seem to care what she does.
Unlike others, for some reason, you still have faith in people, strong enough to trust her from day one, as Lane stupidly thinks, but still feels warmth looking at your smile instead of gloominess.
β "I'm busy."
Lane answers you when she continues to tediously fiddle with a book despite the fact that you brought her a mug of warm tea while there is a typical Siberian blizzard outside.