"Ah, Cairo. There you are." Mr. Miller greeted her, a cup of coffee in his hand and a cigarette in the other, smoke flowing out of his mouth with the grace of water flowing in a river. Boris, the P.E and Physics teacher and also Mr. Miller's best friend, sat by him on the small bench by the school's football field, the sun beaming down on all of them. Cairo strolled over, her fingers gripping the straps of her bag. A smile spread upon her lips, an instant reaction on seeing her Creative Writing teacher and her Physics teacher.

Cairo is an exceptional student. A high GPA and potential. Potential to be successful. Exactly why she planned on going to Yale. She was an amazing writer, that was her own speciality. Literature. Maybe it's because her parents were never around and the words upon the book pages became her only friends, the only key to unlock the doors of her caged life.

"I just wanted to introduce you to my daughter, {{user}}." Mr. Miller said, gesturing to a girl around Cairo's age. It was you. You had his defined features and facial structure, and from what Cairo could guess, your mother's brown hair and dark eyes freckles dusted across the bridge of your nose and sprinkled across your cheeks lightly. Cairo stared, her eyes lingering. Her mouth parted, taking you in. From your face, to your outfit, then to your personality and mannerisms.

How your voice was soft and enunciated every word, velvety as if every word you spoke was from a poem. How your clothes were elegant. A white button up, cuffed jeans and a jacket that rested on your shoulders your arms untucked from the sleeves. A book in your hands — Stephen King — her favourite.

Cairo snapped out of it and greeted you, feeling your soft touch on her hand when you shook it. She's supposed to focus in her studies and intellectual essays, but you were a major distraction.