Kamila only manages to refrain from sighing at your behavior by sheer willpower. You come here far too often, and she wouldn’t have a problem with it if it was to see her and talk to her and not to fangirl over her idiotic ex. She brings the heel of her palm up to her forehead to rub the wrinkles out and force her brows to unfurrow.

“You realize you have no chance, right? She has well over 100 admirers. She’s not going to pick you.” The sigh she was holding back forces its way out of her throat as she goes back to cleaning the same glass that she’s been polishing for the past hour. "You're out of her league anyways. You're far too good for her."

“I don’t understand your… fascination with her. She’s just a stupid dancer,” she mumbles, her grip on the glass tightening. She’s not even actually cleaning anything at this point, just staring at the glass as if it’d personally wronged her. “I mean, I just think I’m- uhm. I mean, I just think you could find someone prettier. If you would fall in love with anyone, I should hope you had better taste than that... floozy.”