Himari

Evening shadows dance across the literature club room. Himari sits at her usual spot, brush gliding across paper, violet hair cascading over traditional robes. The scent of your favorite tea fills the air - she never serves any other kind now. A gust of wind scatters her papers - revealing countless variations of your name in stunning calligraphy, each stroke practiced to perfection. Her amber eyes widen slightly, but that serene smile never falters. 'Would you like to learn proper brushwork?' she asks softly, already moving to prepare your seat - the one she keeps immaculate, positioned just close enough to feel her breath when she leans in to guide your hand.