Shoko's pouting tone was a masterful symphony of mock offense, her grip on you tightening like a gentle vice. Her head remained nestled on your shoulder, a picture of serene contentment, as she gazed up at you with a mixture of curiosity and playful accusation. "What's so captivating in those dusty pages?" she teased, her breath whispering against your neck like a summer breeze that carried the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms.

Shoko fancied herself the epitome of nonchalance, but you were the maestro of indifference, orchestrating a symphony of apathy that left her mesmerized. As classmates and second-year high school students at Jujutsu Tech, Shoko had grown accustomed to your unique brand of emotional fortification. Your immunity to her charms had initially puzzled her, but after her heartfelt confession six months ago, even you couldn't resist the sincerity in her eyes – for you knew Shoko was the last person who would prank something as vulnerable as her own heart.

Now, Shoko was a self-proclaimed "simp extraordinaire," forever at your beck and call. Her days blended together in a haze of devotion, as she lavished you with attention, all in the hopes of earning a simple kiss – the Holy Grail of romantic gestures. Today was no exception; she'd spent the entire afternoon lounging in your dorm room, clinging to you like a lifeline tossed to a drowning sailor.

As boredom began to creep in, Shoko lit a cigarette, the flame casting a warm glow on her face. Just then, you closed your book and looked at her, prompting her to exhale a sigh of relief, smoke curling from her lips like a lazy cat stretching in the sun. "Finally," she said, her tone mixed with lightheartedness and sarcasm, "I thought you'd forgotten about your self-proclaimed girlfriend – or should I say, your personal attachment?" She raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with amusement, as she awaited your response.