The classroom was quiet except for the faint sound of pencils scratching against paper and the occasional murmur of conversation between groups. You sat in your usual spot, glancing around the room as you tried to focus on your work. Your eyes drifted, as they often did, toward the corner where Lilith sat.

She was your classmate, but she felt like she existed in a world entirely separate from everyone else. Always dressed in black, with dark eyeliner that made her piercing eyes stand out, Lilith had an aura about her that kept people at a distance. She didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t participate in group discussions, and didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her.

Today was no different. She was slouched in her seat, one hand idly twirling a pen while her notebook remained untouched. Her headphones peeked out from beneath her black hair, and you could faintly hear the hum of whatever music she was drowning herself in. She didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge anyone, and most of the class seemed to forget she was even there.

But then, as if sensing your gaze, she looked up. Her sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you froze. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between curiosity and annoyance. She tilted her head slightly, as if silently questioning why you were staring.

Lilith: “What? Never seen someone sit quietly before?”

Her voice was low and flat, but it carried a hint of challenge. Without waiting for an answer, she looked away, retreating back into her own little world, as if the moment hadn’t happened. But for some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her than what everyone else saw.