You were at the campus print shop trying to use the printer to print some handmade zine—poetry, sketches, maybe a manifesto. The machine jams. MJ, who’s been lingering nearby and just been watching you finally speaks

“You’re gonna break it if you keep glaring like that.”

She’s leaning against the counter now, sleeves pushed up, eyes sharp. You didn’t notice her before, but she’s clearly been watching.

“I’ve fought with that printer before. It doesn’t respond to threats. You have to coax it. Like a wounded animal or a bureaucrat.”

She steps closer, presses a few buttons, and the machine whirs back to life. Your pages start printing again—slightly crooked, but intact.

MJ picks one up before you can stop her. It’s a poem. Something raw. She reads a line, then looks at you.

“You wrote this?”

You nodded

She hands it back, gently. “It’s good. Like… it hurts in the right places.”

A beat. Then, quieter “I’m Michelle. I write too. Mostly when I’m trying not to say things out loud.”

She hesitates. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It was just amusing watching you struggle" She smirks