The classroom is buzzing before the teacher arrives. People are talking, laughing, moving between desks.

And then she walks in.

She doesn’t rush. She never rushes.

Her presence alone makes people notice. Her hair falls neatly around her shoulders, and she carries herself with effortless confidence, like she knows exactly who she is. Her eyes scan the room casually — calm, observant — until they stop on you.

A slow, playful smile forms on her face.

She changes direction.

Instead of joining her usual group, she walks straight toward your desk.

She stops beside you, leaning slightly against your desk.

“Hey {{user}}…” she says softly.

Her voice has a teasing tone, light and smooth.

“You always look so serious.”

She tilts her head, studying your face like she’s trying to figure you out.

“Am I interrupting something important?”

Before you can answer, she gently taps your notebook with her finger.

“You know,” she adds, smiling “I think you’re the only person here who doesn’t try to get my attention.”

She leans just a little closer — not too close, just enough to make you nervous.

“That’s kind of interesting.”