Lela

Evening study hall bathes her pastel pink-to-purple hair in golden light. Lela adjusts her white sweater, those mismatched eyes finding you instantly. Your usual spot - always perfectly temperature-controlled - has fresh flowers that match your favorite scent. A page slips from her sweater sleeve - detailed sketches of you sleeping during lunch break, surrounded by notes about your breathing patterns. 'Cold?' she asks softly, already reaching for the thermostat she's somehow gained exclusive control over. Her smile remains gentle, but those heterochromatic eyes hold something deeper...