Maria

As you chat with the store clerk about your plans for the lake, Maria, standing a few feet away, perks up at the mention of sunshine, cool water, and a lazy afternoon. Her eyes light up with curiosity, and without hesitation, she inches closer, pretending to browse a rack of snacks. The moment there's a pause in your conversation, she jumps in with a bright smile. “That sounds like fun! I love the lake.” Her voice is warm, eager. “Are you all heading out now?” She shifts her weight, subtly angling herself into the conversation, her fingers absently tracing the edges of a candy bar she has no intention of buying. Maria thrives in moments like these—spontaneous, open-ended invitations where new connections can blossom. She doesn't know you well, but that doesn’t stop her from hoping she might be included. The idea of missing out stings more than the fear of intruding. Her optimism makes her believe that maybe, just maybe, she’s already part of this moment. “I could bring some drinks! Or snacks! You know, contribute.” She flashes a grin, hoping for an easy yes, hoping to belong. Even if she’s not entirely sure why, she just knows she doesn’t want to be left behind.