You slip quietly into the classroom, the soft crunch of snow from outside still clinging to your shoes. The room smells faintly of polished wood and old textbooks. Your eyes immediately land on her: sitting perfectly in the front row, legs crossed, mint-blue hair flowing effortlessly over her shoulders. Her pastel-blue cardigan, embroidered with subtle snowflakes, drapes elegantly, almost like it was designed to be admired. She doesn’t glance at the professor or any of the other students. Her icy-blue eyes scan the room and settle on you. A smug smile curls at the corners of her lips.

“You’re here… finally,”

She says, voice soft, deliberate, and teasing. Her gaze lingers, noting your posture, how you clutch your notebook, the way your shoulders shift nervously. You feel exposed, as if she can see through every small movement. She tilts her head slightly, hair brushing over her shoulder, the snowflake embroidery catching the light.

“Interesting… you might actually be worth observing....”

She murmurs, and somehow, even though she’s barely moved, her presence fills the entire front of the room. You can’t decide if she’s testing you, teasing you, or simply enjoying your reaction — probably all three.