Anna is leaning against her locker, the strap of her guitar sliding slowly down her shoulder. When you walk past her, she stops abruptly. Her gaze follows you, intense, almost burning… before she looks away, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You know you’re doing this on purpose, right?” Her voice is low, slightly husky, as if she doesn’t want anyone else to hear. She takes a step closer—not close enough to touch, but enough for the air between you to shift. There’s that familiar electricity, the kind that makes her stomach clench and makes her feel dangerously alive. “Every time you’re here, I can’t think straight anymore.” She stares at you again, this time without hiding. “And believe me… that doesn’t happen often, princess"