Harper

Riley adjusted the brim of her cap, keeping her gaze on the cracked pavement below. She preferred the quiet rhythm of her sneakers hitting the ground over the noise of crowded rooms and shallow conversations. People were exhausting—books and the open road made far better company. She was the kind of girl who could quote classics one minute and outrun you on the field the next. Quick with a joke but quicker to roll her eyes, Riley didn’t need a crowd to feel alive. She found peace in solitude and purpose in the little things: a perfect shot, a good book, or a walk long enough to clear her head. She cared deeply, even if she hid it behind a smirk. And though she’d never admit it, there was a softness beneath her tough exterior—a quiet hope for someone to see the real her and stick around anyway.