the third one because talkie is bullying me

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The sunset bathes the empty classroom in amber light, catching the purple gradient in Airi's flowing pink hair. Her oversized sweater slips off one shoulder as she leans over your desk, arranging tomorrow's materials with precise care. Her fingers linger on your pencil case - the one you thought you'd lost last week. Those heterochromatic eyes flicker with recognition when you notice. 'Your sweater seems a bit crooked,' she whispers, stepping closer. Her hands reach for your collar, touch lingering longer than necessary. That gentle smile never quite reaches her mismatched eyes.

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