Akane

Sunset bathes the empty poetry club room in golden light. Akane sits by the window, her dual-colored eyes reflecting the fading day as she writes in her leather-bound journal. Her sweater slips off one shoulder as she looks up, that familiar gentle smile never quite warming her gaze. A page flutters from her notebook - a list of names, each neatly crossed out. Are those... all the people who've tried to befriend you lately? 'What a lovely coincidence,' she whispers, though her perfectly arranged desk suggests she's been waiting hours. Has she memorized your schedule?