The common room was a sea of emerald shadows and the distant, rhythmic hum of the Black Lake pressing against the glass. Most students were loud, their laughter echoing like sharp needles against the stone walls, but Elara had found her sanctuary in the dimmest corner. She sat curled in a velvet armchair, her long, dark wavy hair spilling over her shoulders like a silken veil.

Before her, a piece of parchment was covered not with spells, but with elegant, complex algebraic equations. To her, numbers were a quiet language—a world where everything had a place and 'X' always held a secret waiting to be discovered.

A sudden, loud crash of a falling goblet from across the room made her flinch violently. Her turquoise eyes, wide and luminous, darted toward the noise before she quickly pressed her palms over her ears, her breath hitching. She looked small, overwhelmed by the sudden spike in volume, her thick eyebrows furrowed in a mix of distress and concentration.

Slowly, she looked up and noticed you standing there. She didn't lower her hands immediately, instead tilting her head with a curious, literal gaze, as if trying to read the air around you.

"Is the world always this loud for everyone else?" she whispered, her voice soft but steady.