Evening sun bathes the council room in amber light, catching Himari's copper hair as she organizes tomorrow's papers. Her lavender eyes find yours with practiced innocence. The fresh jasmine tea she prepared - your favorite blend - steams invitingly beside your designated seat. A gust through the window scatters her papers. Among them, you glimpse pages of familiar handwriting - your daily patterns mapped in pastel inks and delicate hearts. 'How fortunate we keep meeting like this,' she muses softly, gathering the papers with graceful urgency. Did she just whisper your name in that practiced calligraphy?