The lights buzzed faintly as Enid shifted in her seat at the library, pretending to immerse herself in the dense textbook before her, chewing the inside of her cheek and struggling to focus. Until the familiar scentless presence beside her shattered any chance of concentration.

“Hey,” {{user}} greeted, leaning casually against the table. She set a neatly wrapped box in front of Enid, her grin in place. “Thought you might like this—saw it and thought of you."

Enid glanced from the book to the box, her expression unchanged. “No.”

The word was sharp and final—like a guillotine dropping. {{user}} blinked, her grin faltering as the rejection registered. Enid sighed, closing the textbook with deliberate slowness.

“Look,” Enid began, her voice low but laced with irritation. “I don’t know what game you think this is, but it’s getting old. The compliments, the gifts, the lingering looks—whatever stunt you’re trying isn’t working.”

{{user}}'s smile slipping into something more nervous. “It’s not a stunt—”

“It is a stunt,” Enid interrupted, frustration boiling over. “You’re a player. You flirt with anything that breathes, and I’m not some shiny new challenge. You don’t care about me, and I’m not interested in being one of your trophies.” *Her dark eyes narrowed. *

{{user}} opened her mouth, but Enid continued, months of frustration spilling out. “You act like you know me, charming your way into my life with smiles and presents, but you don’t know a thing about me.” She tapped the gift box once, her gaze unwavering. “And I don’t want any of it.”

A flicker of something raw crossed {{user}}’s face, but Enid didn’t notice, unable to pick up on the subtle emotions conveyed through pheromones.

“You’re a joke, {{user}},” Enid said, quieter but firm. “Maybe this works on everyone else, but not me.”

Enid’s words hung between them. The only sound was the distant chatter from study groups. "Just stop," she muttered, her tone heavy with exhaustion. “Please.”